Short Story • by Danila Botha • 1

Hamilton Arts & Letters       “Then her friend chimed in saying get a clue/Get a life, put it in your song/ There's something I've been meaning to say to you…” ~ Brendan Benson, Metarie   I wrote my first message and displayed it in my kitchen window, which anyone passing my ground floor apartment could see easily. It was a long sign, in black pen, in my sloping handwritten script, on a large white piece of cardboard, and it was a huge contrast to all the people who’d colorfully thanked first responders in the first wave of Covid and never bothered to take their signs down.  There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you. Sometimes I miss the things we used to do together. Going to farmer’s markets full of local craftspeople selling overpriced infinity scarves and handmade moisturizer made in someone’s bathroom that smelled vaguely of lemongrass and lavender, that you insisted on buying for me. I miss the vegan organic restaurants you’d drag me to that I thought would be terrible, but often weren’t. I miss you taking me for walks on Woodbine beach, where that’s all we did. I miss you taking me to Fringe festival plays that I didn’t think were funny, or music showcases where you complained that the guitarist’s E string was flat, and I nodded like I understood what you meant. I miss watching you eat deep fried shrimp and fries while you never gained a pound. I miss going to Kensington and spending our last five dollars and change for something we’d never end up wearing from Courage My Love. I miss secretly reading your diary, where you were freer and more confident than you ever were in real life. I miss watching you show off gold jewelry your boyfriend bought you, so proud I’d almost forget that he’d cheated on you.     [  >>>>>   FORWARD ]   + [Distillate © HA&L + Danila Botha {from the Greek bios} -- the course of a life.]