by Ahuva Goldstand
It was as if nothing but her laugh, that unmistakable, unforgettable laugh and a smoky Guinness could cure me. And this stupid wonderful world, like a well meaning child who cannot help but muddy everything up. Who innocently picks up your brand new favorite thing, and gets it sticky and unfixable. And then the world stares right back at you, nonplussed, wondering “What ever have I done wrong?”
The truth is I could not attempt to answer that question, not truthfully, not accurately. Somewhere in between everything and nothing. More than a universe of thought, and less than the smallest fraction of a dream. And yet, for all my love of words, I could not phrase it, could not formulate it faithfully or certainly. She would know, though.
She would look right into me, right into my bluesy soul, hum with grumbling bass and a wailing guitar that could hit that note that makes you weep. And she would smile.
“You know?” I would ask, but it wasn’t really a question. She would raise her beer to mine. “To Life.”
And she would laugh.
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