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January 04, 2007
Page 11
She had run away from home for good at 16, which could be why the funeral was a quiet, family-only affair. It was run by her older brother, or maybe her brother-in-law, who was barely 30. The other attendees were all aging relatives. Her father, a short man in his mid-fifties, wore a black suit with a black band around his arm. He stood to the side of the gate, never once moving. He looked like asphalt swept clean by a flood. As I turned to leave, I silently nodded to him. He silently nodded in return.
I first met her in the fall of 1969. I was 20 and she was 17. There was a small coffeeshop near campus where I used to meet friends. It wasn't much of a place but they played hard rock to listen to as you drank their surprisingly bad coffee.
Posted by tim at January 4, 2007 05:33 PM
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