Rewrite the Story

“Narrative, she wrote…”

It’s not very much fun going to the grocery store since the pandemic, is it?

I mean, wearing a mask of course, but rather, now, it’s like I can’t even mildly flirt with someone (even if I wanted to do so) — the shy smile, downward glance, quick aversion of eye contact — this is also because I tend to leave my prescription sunglasses on along with my mask — add a beret to the mix and I begin to feel like the iconic photo of Patty Hearst or something, you know?

So — now grocery shopping is often when I tend to ruminate, think out loud because honestly, I speak softly under “normal” circumstances so “who” can really “hear” me anyway? And, while doing this recently, I began to construct a narrative in my own mind and heart that I can somehow live with regarding my now former friendship with Paige, my decade long friend, she of the Gazelle like 6 foot tall frame, Vassar undergraduate degree and self described introvert. My friend — whom I believed would always be a part of my life.

Here is my narrative — part of which is true (fact) and part of which is not (fiction) because I think that’s pretty much literature, right? Partly inspired by real life events experienced by the writer and then interwoven with flights of fancy and imagination. I realized that I NEED this narrative in order to go on.

Because the reality was too painful. It hurt too much. I was exhausted by grief