Rainy Thursday

I just sent Dereck off to Karaoke alone.



On Thursday nights, Karaoke is held in a bar called Toons. There are no comfortable seats. Only stools that I always feel like I am falling off. The carpet is always sticky, and when you go to the bathroom, you have to a) hope the toilet is not broken and b) hold the door shut the entire time.



The last time I was in the bathroom, a very large woman with a drink in her hand was saying to her reflection and her friends, "I think I'm pregnant."



A closer look revealed that she was, in fact, pregnant.



It is raining.



I have to finish laundry for my trip, so I think I'll just stay home.



I removed some posts earlier today, but it is still on my mind. It's hard not to let your mind reach for the ache, the toothe that is missing. If only because it is a different sensation.



In situations like this, it is hard to laugh normally with friends, indeed, it is hard even to feel worthy of friends, even though I am very lucky. I still have good friends who love and support me. And for that, I am very grateful.



So, you can imagine my surprise and guilty pleasure upon looking in the mailbox and finding a padded envelope. I thought one of the booksellers from amazon or ebay was just waaaaaay overdue with a book I'd forgotten. I looked. No return address. Kansas city postmark? I open it and there is a book of poems. There is a note stuck to it with a yellow post-it. It is very short: Jen, this so reminded me of you. smiley face, signed J.S.



Here is the thing. The handwriting was very familiar. But I have no idea who J.S. is. I have been wracking my brain. I was friends with a J. S. in high school, but this J.S. wouldn't know me well enough now to have anything remind him of me. Let alone a book of poems.



No, this is someone who knows me well, and in particular, knows my poems.



J.S.



The only thing I can think of is that it is a friend whose married initials are J.S. but who usually goes by her maiden name to me.



If it is not she, I have no idea.



I read the poems, all of them. They are very good.



And yes, they remind me of me.