Escaping to Before
If a pandemic cancels the remainder of your spring semester, and your recent ex decides to suspend the rules of your breakup in case “the apocalypse” keeps you apart forever, and you find yourself lying once again in his bed, your faces flushed, the afternoon humming by outside, take your time with leaving. The future will charge onward, but for now you can allow the memory of other lazy days you spent in this bed to envelop you entirely. You would like to believe this feeling transcends whatever comes next. For an hour or two, it does. — Lily Goldberg
Going All Out, All the Time
From the beginning, I was awed by how big and bold Sam’s voice was, his energy and stature too. At weddings, he danced so hard he would sweat through his suit and sometimes split his pants. That’s my date, I thought. (Still do.) In the middle of our story now — married with two sweet sons who look like him — I continue to admire how Sam lives on a different scale, with an inability to whisper, sip, eat only half a sandwich or love us halfway. — Amy Klimoski
Alone in a Retirement Home
My 88-year-old mother is no longer able to walk or do much else by herself, effectively stuck in her retirement home. Most of the facility’s residents are women: mothers and a handful of Blitz survivors, like my mother. They watch the news alone in their rooms or in the common area. They know what is happening “outside.” My mother realizes that she is among the most vulnerable. Yet while speaking over the phone (I’m in America; she’s in Canada), my mother worries not about herself falling ill, but me, her “poor love.” — Alexander Wooley
The Treasures He Will Leave Behind
For one week in 40 of his springs, my father searched the shore for shells. My sister tried to keep up; my brother drew in the sand with sticks. I followed behind, collecting the broken shells my father tossed aside. Now, we guide our father’s hands over his old treasures. I read shell names aloud: pear whelk, leafy jewel box, ponderous ark. Suffering from Parkinson’s and dementia, my father simply listens, closes his eyes and smiles. Soon, my siblings and I will search the shore once more, desperate to find what the sea and my father have left behind. — Carrie Friedman
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March 25, 2020 at 02:55AM
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Tiny Love Stories: ‘You Find Yourself Lying Once Again in His Bed’ - The New York Times
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