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L. AND C.F.
I started off calling this Pandora's Box. Then I realized it was not that, but a magic box full of pictures from my High School years and early college. Each picture transforms the box into a music box, the sweet melody of the memories gently nudging my day dreams.
I saw C.F. this past week. There is no other like her never will be a replacement for her, the space she holds in my heart. She is the closest thing I ever had to a sister after my two blood sisters. Circumstance, alcohol, bad marriage, guilt and trauma, maybe post trauma stress syndrome accompanied with death, mental illness, denial, and loosing everything has transformed my best friend into someone I do not know. I will never have C.F. back the way she was before life and alcohol beat her down and rearranged her.
The woman was wearing a camel color car coat length jacket. Around her neck was a long knitted scarf dramatically wrapped, the ends flying like wings on either side of her. Her legs appeared skinny under the long tailored pants, balanced on spiky high heeled shoes. On her head was a gauntly angled cap. Her hands were encased in leather gloves. Extended out for balance as she confidently jay walked across Short Street. A cigarette dangled between the fingers.
I never saw her face, but I know it was her. No one crosses a street with such a style as she always did. No matter the amount of alcohol and regret that ravages her, she can still stop traffic.
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