Things That Make Me Cry

My best friend texted me one late Californian night to let me know that she was attending an event headlined by Ann Patchett at the Melbourne Writers Festival.

We reconnected three years ago in Melbourne after being out of touch for about a decade. I ducked into a bookstore before our first meeting both to quell my nerves and to pick up a present for her. I was quite certain that she still loved to read, even though she had gone to medical school and was preparing for a hefty exam that would qualify her as an oncology physician. I was quite certain that we still liked the same books, and that she had never read Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. That I gave her, as well as Dorothy Parker’s Complete Stories and The Ballad of the Sad Cafe by Carson McCullers. I was right. She loved them all, and the ten year gap in our friendship disappeared.

I was at a party in Menlo Park, sitting alone in the dark with my dog when she messaged me. I replied: Jealous! Hear Franzen’s at MWF too. No literary rock stars when I volunteered last year. Get pic w/ AP if there’s a signing!

She told me to check my e-mail. I made a beeline for my laptop the second I got home, so excited I was to see my favourite person in the world next to an author we both admired deeply.

I got this picture instead.

I love, miss, love her so much.