Dedicated to counselor Mushki.


It is not tragedy, but I think it is.

I carried my things; a poster, some insurance card poster; Geico; the drawstrings kept hitting my shoulder; I lost my friend in the crowd.

My friend had gone outside with the other groups. The only thing I remember about her is that her father owned a candy shop.

You were to take me ice-skating, but I think you forgot. Wait, did you? I held onto you as I stood on the ice, I thought, or maybe I’m just imagining things again. They were out of the ice-skating walkers, and my feet were stabbed by the heels.

I then had shitty bread filled with blue-berry or chocolate for lunch.

So many people. I didn’t notice them. You caught up with me, maybe as I was standing at a concession booth, maybe as I was trying to leave one of them. We went to a concession stand to play baseball, but it wasn’t really baseball. They just gave you an iron bat, told you to try to hit the ball that hovered in front of you, and just go for it. I never did hit that ball. But that was okay.
We then walked and talked—about what I can’t tell you. I have no recollection. You were always sweet and kind—you had some sort of accent as you spoke.

We all had to wear our green tie-dyed camp shirts. I wore a white t-shirt underneath, it stuck out of my collar a bit.

We went to take photos with a giant mascot Cow. I had you hold my things. I stammered, at first, I think, for not wanting to have my picture taken because I was holding a lot of things, but you smiled with my items in hand. I leaned further away in the photo, from the cow, and he held both our shoulders as we all smiled. It wasn’t prophecy, but I wished I wasn’t so uncomfortable in that picture. It was a good one too. I still have it. I remember it too well, and I could only wish I was a little nicer to you.

I’m sorry, Mushki. I didn’t want to be there but you tried to make me feel better. I didn’t recognize it then. I got your email, was it a year after you gave it to us? I can no longer find it, I don’t know what happened.

I probably deleted it. Too many bad memories, memories I didn’t want to handle.

If somehow you find this, however unlikely, thank you and I’m sorry.


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16 thoughts on “Mushki.”

    1. Thank you, Ivor. Sometimes, I do wonder about what could have happened if I kept a correspondence with her; she’d probably be a great mentor to have especially at that point in my life.

      I guess some regrets are better lived.

      Liked by 1 person

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