January 22, 1995

by jkatejohnston

Dear Max,

I’m leaving tomorrow.  Did you forget that I live in Oakland and go to graduate school?  I did.  Teresa and I are pretty sad.  This morning I woke up to Teresa running her gentle fingers over my hair and back.  I woke up, and she stroked my face.

“How’s my pimple?”  She paused and examined it.

“It’s one of the best pimples I’ve ever seen.”  And now I must describe this pimple.  It’s in the middle of my forehead, and I can feel my pulse in it.  And I think if I crossed my eyes up I could see it without a mirror.

It’s all because I ran out of my antibiotics and decided that I probably didn’t need them any more, and we see the result.  I’m like a manic depressive who occasionally goes off her meds just for the thrill of it.

Later we wandered down town, went to the movies and then sat down for coffee in a deserted restaurant.  We were quiet and a little sad.

“What would you do if I died?” I said.

She put her finger gently on my pimple.  “It’s not that bad, Princess.”‘

“What would you do?”

“I’d be very depressed for a long time.”  She paused and I waited for more.  “And I’d never love anyone ever again.”  I still waited.  “And I’d always be sad and never have sex again for the rest of my life until I met someone new.  What would you do if I died?” she said.

“Kill myself.”

“Would you always wear black?”

“Yeah, for the rest of my life.”

“Really?”

“And maybe navy blue.”

I wonder if I feel sick because I’m leaving.  I feel so odd and sad and floaty.

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