by Angie Ellis
And here I sit on a chilly, pine needle morning—the trees cut black against the watery
tangerine sky. Poetic .
I’m mentally going over my speech. No, my proposal. A statement of deeply felt resolution.
“Don’t be mad, but . . . listen. How are you feeling about this?” (Gesture between us.) “Remember when we fought about which seedy bread to buy for sandwiches in Tofino? What a stupid life, right?” (I’ll laugh here because it’s stupid in a funny way, but I won’t laugh so hard as to imply the memory is a fond one.) “You know how we’ll all die soon, in the blink of an eye. How right now, we are—if we’re lucky—halfway through this life, and the second half isn’t as good. Here’s the thing. I’ve always wanted to take up fencing.”
No, streamline that.
“Is it just me or have […]