washwords

I am continually trying to clean up / clear out / streamline my beautifully renovated Dupont Circle Coop.

To that end a few MONTHS ago, I posted a note on my apartment message board that I was selling a bunch of furniture.

Someone inquired about an old camping table I was selling. Originally purchased for about $50, I was offering it for $15.

The conversation on said $50-reduced-to-$15, used once, snap-together table went like this:

Washy: I’ll be home after 6, apt. #12345 – I was asking $15 but it’s negotiable. I also have an ikea coffee table!

Old friends, Old friends, Sat on their park bench, Like bookends.
A newspaper blown through the grass Falls on the round toes On the high shoes, Of the old friends.

***

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was A time of innocence, a time of confidences Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph Preserve your memories; they’re all that’s left of you, they’re all that’s left me to.

-Simon and Garfunkel, 1968

A month or so ago, no, undoubtedly it was longer now, an unknown number showed up on my phone. As is my practice, I didn’t answer. I often don’t answer the phone even when I know the caller- it scares me, disrupts my rhythm and flow of my days, or, in the case, quiet, writing evening. I especially don’t answer when I don’t recognize the number.

A minute later an email came through. This time from a name I DID recognize. “Just looking up old friends. How are you doing? Call me!” said the message from indeed an old friend, an old friend I hadn’t heard from in years, an old friend I once thought I loved, desparately, painfully, though now I know that feeling was just Read more »