Some Subtle Reminders That You Were Once Here
I think a little part of me will always resent you for turning my life into a graveyard.
By Callie Byrnes
One time we went to an art show because I wanted to see the art and you wanted to see your sister, who you knew would be there somewhere, because she was always at places like that. The venue was teeming with people when we got there, more than we’d expected, and I remember making a face at you because we both liked to joke how much we hated other people, though maybe we kind of meant it. There was something so weirdly romantic about the fact that we could only ever seem to stand each other.
So we stayed close together and tried not to interact with anyone else, but we failed. A few people were handing out flyers and I took every one they offered me, more out of obligation than necessity. You always said my worst quality was my inability to turn people away. That’s why, when one woman in a vintage army jacket stepped in front of me and asked, “Would you like a button?” I nodded instinctively. It said “Art Should Disturb You” or some other cliche and I knew I was never going to wear it, so I stored it in my jacket pocket. “Just throw it away,” you told me, but I couldn’t bear to do it. The button meant enough to someone that they’d created it, and it…
