25 Days Later

And I'm still full of deep, intense sorrow. Yes, Alice would not want me to be this down, yet I can't help retreating from social situations and spending my time, well, sleeping as much as I can. What I'm doing in some ways is solidifying within myself the relationship I have with Alice, in a form that I can carry with me for the rest of my life. It's not easy to do. I'm remembering painful exchanges and joyful moments, sometimes blurring them together. A recently recurring happy flash:

I was going to call this entry "'I Don't Give a F`ck'" but then I didn't want to be so bold. Bold isn't what I've been feeling lately.

Alice had come to New York for my birthday in the spring of 1999. One day I had jury duty, and had gotten out early so we could frolic downtown. We went into Century 21--the big clothing store, not the real estate agency--and headed to the women's footwear department.

Alice had been on a quest for shoes since she arrived. We were browsing through the aisles of boots and heels and flats, when we both overhear a conversation between two women. One says, "What do you think of the color of these shoes?" to which her companion replies, "I don't give a f`ck." As soon as we round the corner, maybe/not out of earshot, Alice repeats, in a perfect impersonation, "I don't give a f`ck" and we erupt in giddy, secret laughter. Such an odd response to a reasonable inquiry.

To this day we still reference that memory with the quotation, using the same intonation the woman did, and reinforce our bond with each other.

I realize I wrote "to this day" and that the tense of this anecdote changed mid-paragraph from past to present. I guess it's a way to deny, momentarily, that Alice is gone and to feel her presence again. I suppose I can let go of present-day descriptors and still keep Alice close. 25 days after her death, though, it's hard to do.

See the previous entry for a reference to the photo above.