She sat down across from me at the airport and started crying, and with her curly blonde hair and delicate features she so reminded me of another crying blonde that I wanted to go sit at her feet and worship.
She had her headphones in, and I couldn't begin to think of how to approach this beautiful girl to ask what she was leaving behind that would make her cry so. I didn't want to watch--that would be rude--but since I couldn't actually stop watching I made do with making glances past her, sweeping my eyes from left to right as though I was looking around the gate area. While I watched (or didn't) a little boy walked up from behind me and handed her a wad of tissues. She nodded and thanked him, thickly, but didn't stop crying.
I decided to walk home from Jeff's birthday brunch (which was yummy! Happy birthday, Jeffrey!) because it was a lovely day and I'm just so glad to be home. On the way I called Dave, because he's been having a hard time of it lately, down in Berkeley, and the last few days have been no picnic for me either. I needed someone to remind me that whoever it is I turn into around my father isn't really me, that it's just a pretend girl to hide the things I don't want him to tear down. I learned a lot about being patient last year, even if I am still working on letting go.
(PS: Chas? Is this better?)
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