Josie (6)

November 17 (Wednesday)

Didn't talk to you last night, you were home, I was home, neither of us yielded to the temptation.

I called you this morning at work. We were bouncing, brimming, full of talk. You called your father last night, then called him back -- you want to go to Trinidad for Christmas.

You say, you had a good night's sleep and you feel refreshed this morning. All this, right after I mention that our tentative plans for the movies seemed to have fallen apart. So naturally, in my mind, you were connecting not seeing me or talking to me with peace of mind.

I was miserable last night for various reasons and refreshed this morning.

I'm worried about hurting again. I don't want to draw my bedsheets around me, curl myself around my pillow and examine the edges of that emptiness again. I'd sooner replay old losses than experience new ones. So you see, my afeared friend, you're not the only one.

When we did see each other, on the weekend, I gave you a book of poetry (Vikram Seth), the "Diary of Adrian Mole" and "Very Far Away from Anywhere Else."

This morning, you tell me you've been reading "Far Away." That you imagine I was like that boy in the book -- "an outsider." You ask if this is right? I say, "Yeah, well, sort of."

You say, "That's the way I felt."

I, "So you see we're like souls."

You laugh and cut me off and say, "We'll talk tonight."

Somewhere in there, you say after mentioning the fact that you felt you were an outsider as well, you say, "Is that why you gave me this book, 'cause it's about you?"

"Josie, nothing I ever give you is without a purpose.

Click.