Butterflies and Ladybugs

Posted: February 17, 2013 in Uncategorized

I used to tell stories about a girl that I knew, someone I ate celery sticks with in a treehouse, someone that grew up and away from me but still remained a cornerstone I which I myself matured, like two trees growing out wide from the same trunk. She left, joined the Peace Corps, saw the world, and I got a job working in a hardware store, making enough to pay for night school classes on the road to become a dental assistant. I did that, I did a lot of things. Dated other women, made friends, got an ill-advised tattoo, dated another woman, married her, divorced her, married another one, had a couple kids, just lots of things that happened in my life that amount to who I am today, but I always think about a girl that I went to school with only for the first and second grades before she changed schools, who lived on my street, who slept at my house, and then took a path that wound up nowhere near mine. I wonder what she did with her life. I wonder if she wonders what I did, too.

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Comments
  1. Carl Radon says:

    Good stuff.
    There’s some meat on that bone.

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