“As a boy as a ten, I was devastated losing my friend, my dearest McCoy. He moved three states over, Arkansas past Missouri, and I never saw him again.
“Back then, I wasn’t wont to show my mother much emotion–was too embarrassed, I reckon–but I couldn’t help it the day he left. All noon and evening, I wept and wept until my eyes hurt and my mother patted my chest. She was concerned for my health, so utterly throated I’d become.
“Oh I grasped for my aching heart and oh I never thought it would repair again. Yet here I am some decades later, and if I bumped into my friend, my dearest Magoo, I wouldn’t know what to say. Sure I’d be happy. For sure I would. But I wouldn’t be overthrilled particularly. I’ve lived my life and’ve experienced better joys than he ever was. Joys I could’ve never imagined at the time of my school days.
“Who knows, dear? Mayhaps it be like that with you and me. Not to sound uh terribly callous, but perhaps whatever’s for you, an hour next, today, will better these wounds that sour you. Perhaps it’ll make you smile for thinking these were the worst of times that could never improve.”
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