Final Happy Birthday

For the first time in 13 years today, I didn't call Samantha for her birthday. Part of me wants to regret it, but the othe rpart says it's time to let go. Everything is fleeting and I lost this longer ago than even I know. It's just another example of a waste of mine, another waste of time, another waste of my heart on the very last vestige of the First Past. But even fairy tales must die in the end.

So happy birthday, Samantha Emily Straus. I can do nothing now but remember you at most, because I doubt you remember me at all. Maybe when you look through the old photo albms and come across me, you'll remember the little twiggy girl you used to call your best friend. She was allergic to your casts but grew out of it and convinced you of life from outer space. You used to catch snails from your garden with her and punch her in the stomach if you got mad. But she loved you anyway, in that pure, senseless way of children.

That's why I think I held on for so long--you knew me before...

Before.

You knew me before the end of a child's elation, before the disillusion, before the Mason-Dixon line.

So I am a fool, was a fool, will continue to be, because I thought that maybe, somehow, by latching on to a past represented by you, I could preserve the last of myself. but I lost that, too, too long ago to remember and I understand that you represent everything I could have been and never was.

I still pursue the wind. It's only me. Not anyone else. Just me. No more representation, no more false consolations.

So happy birthday, Samantha. For the very last time. But more like happy birthday to myself. Or graduation.

Three cheers for the graduate.