Do you ever say goodbye to someone and wonder if these will be the last words you’ll ever exchange with them? I don’t, really, anymore, but I used to be mildly obsessed with the thought. Every time I said goodbye or goodnight to my high school boyfriend, even on the phone, I would always make sure to tell him I loved him, that I missed him, and for him to be safe. It was like a superstition, a ritualistic vestige of childhood, like repeating “Now I lay me down to sleep…” every night before bed.
These days I don’t dwell on the possibility of an untimely death for myself or the person to whom I’m bidding adieu, unless maybe I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again. But this morning I thought of it, when my mom dropped me off at work, on her way to her own job.
She said, “That house sure looks meth-a-licious.”