National College Decision Day was May 1st.
Edison, my son, did not choose that school.
So here I am, again, with pen and paper. Because I MUST write. I don’t know how not to. And when I’m not able to pound my 8 fingers and two thumbs into what once was my Apple keyboard, I, instead, must glide this purple pen — the one I have not lost — along sections of a spare piece of paper.
The 30-something man with sandy brown hair, with a sweatshirt, a blue one, navy blue, with a drawing of a bird riding a bike, with a olive branch in its mouth, or beak. Peace. Yes, peace.”