No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. It's Just One Planet. But There Are Many Stories.
It had all started with Jenny on a sunny day that turned to twilight, around 6. I was walking to the bus stop from the cultural center in Costa Rica’s capital of San Jose where I was taking a two-week Spanish language class. That’s when I saw her, the exotic-looking lady who captured my eye. She looked to be in her mid-30s, a combination of Central American indigenous Indian mixed in with Spanish/European heritage.
Few noticed Icarus that day, Heard from high clear air long unlucky cries, Saw with hard squinting, disbelieving eyes One splash after a ballet of disarray...
I’d always loved Provincetown. When I was a kid in New Jersey, my parents would rent a cottage in Wellfleet for a week (or sometimes two when they could afford it), and my memories of those vacations are among the sweetest of my childhood. The beaches and the air and the ocean and the food: all of those were delightful, of course, but there was always one day set aside for visiting “Ptown,” which I guess my parents considered the epitome of weird, and part of our education...
“I’ve made my contribution. I’m done.” He waved his right hand like he was dismissing an entire life.
“Oh, please. I don’t like to hear this.” Mom said, brow furrowed, the corners of her eyes creased, the edges of her lips turned down.
“What do you mean, done? Like done done? With your life?” I was curious about this feeling of his.
“Yes,” he said. He rubbed his hands on the table. It was a tell, his whiskey buzz settling in.
On a stifling summer day many years ago, Ana and her brother Dan first created the MMV - a Melted Marshmallow and Velveeta cheese sandwich. They were inspired, as so many kids are, by television. Their mom and only parent was at work, leaving the siblings home alone. They were watching a movie which showed the kind of American kids they only saw on TV, making s’mores while camping in the great outdoors. It was then that Dan came up with the idea.
“Let’s go camping, right here, you and I!”
When my mom and I were sitting on her bed talking about life, she shared that her work as a therapist was thriving. Her days as a social worker at an agency were now over, and she loved having her own practice. She even took some Fridays off. She seemed more relaxed overall.
Suddenly I blurted out, “I met someone at school, and we are dating and it’s been about two months and it’s going well and I’m so happy.”
“Oh, that’s great. Tell me about him.”
A big pause ensued.