Dear Wigleaf—

I meant to call, but now it's late and I don't want to wake you. I know falling back asleep can be hard. Still, I wanted to call so I could hear you laugh, hear the sounds we make but never write. Maybe you're still coughing because you say you've quit smoking, but you haven't really. (Shouldn't we get to keep at least one bad habit?) It's been the season for reconnecting with old friends, and I've been thinking about you. Remember when we used to stay up all night, wandering around town and bullshitting, smoking cigarettes in your car and fighting over what to listen to next in the soundtrack to our lives? When I'd had too much to drink, you'd take me home. You read Uncle Ray's stories to me when I was too belligerent to fall asleep on my own and even though a lot of people think he's depressing as hell your voice—smooth, steady—sent me off to sleep. 

Listen to me. Carrying on. What I mean to say is come for a visit. Meet Ben and the baby. Call me when you wake up and tell me what you're reading. Talk with me first thing in the morning. —s






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Photo detail on main page courtesy of Bob Travis.

Read SJ's story, "One of These Things Is Not Like the Other."

w i g · l e a F               03-21-09                                [home]