A Letter to My First Girl
My dearest Debbie: this is so scary, your cardiac arrest. Seeing you on Thanksgiving Day connected to all those tubes and machines buzzing and beeping and ringing, with their blue and green and yellow lines zigzagging across a bank of screens, dancing and flashing “vital sign” statistics like storm troopers – I thought I would die, baby. That was so surreal, so not you.
I cry to the universe, stunned, with a simple question on my tongue, like a character in the old time movies: “What’s the big idea?” I mean, really, what genre of karma is this that has you in such a dark valley between life and death? And I can’t help but recall when you got here.






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