May 31, 1988 - September 19, 2007This post is dedicated to the glory that is my roommate.
She may be dying soon, so I thought it would be fitting to provide you with an obituary of sorts. We are "studying" right now in a random corner of Hamilton Hall, quite possibly spending our last moments together.
This afternoon she asks me, "Hey, have you ever had milk before that tasted... fizzy?"
"Um. No. Definitely not."
"Well. My milk was carbonated when I drank it this morning."
"Kathryn. That should not happen. Milk should never be carbonated."
"Well mine was! When I opened the lid, it made a popping noise, like when you open a soda. And then there were little bits of fizzy things on my tongue."
"That is not right."
"I know."
"You are probably going to die."
"Yes, yes. I probably am." And then she looked at me with deep and sincere eyes and said, "Don't forget me when I go."
And I am here to say, to my one and only Barge Train, I will not forget you when you go, as you are certainly about to do, judging from the itchiness of your legs and the general restlessness of your person. I cannot forget you. How can you forget someone who hates everything that you eat? How can you forget the girl who has suffered the pains of folliculitis for her whole life? How can you forget someone who drinks orange juice straight out of the bottle as if it were gin? How can you forget the late nights of laughter and insanity and "Shure, Daddy, shure"? You cannot forget such a life. You cannot.
And so here is my eulogy, for my beloved, beloved Kathryn Randolph. I will simply stand at the front of the church, as she lies--beautiful in death as she was beautiful in life!--in her coffin, as rows and rows of weeping family and friends look at me with tear-stained faces, and say:
"Milk was a bad choice."
She may be dying soon, so I thought it would be fitting to provide you with an obituary of sorts. We are "studying" right now in a random corner of Hamilton Hall, quite possibly spending our last moments together.
This afternoon she asks me, "Hey, have you ever had milk before that tasted... fizzy?"
"Um. No. Definitely not."
"Well. My milk was carbonated when I drank it this morning."
"Kathryn. That should not happen. Milk should never be carbonated."
"Well mine was! When I opened the lid, it made a popping noise, like when you open a soda. And then there were little bits of fizzy things on my tongue."
"That is not right."
"I know."
"You are probably going to die."
"Yes, yes. I probably am." And then she looked at me with deep and sincere eyes and said, "Don't forget me when I go."
And I am here to say, to my one and only Barge Train, I will not forget you when you go, as you are certainly about to do, judging from the itchiness of your legs and the general restlessness of your person. I cannot forget you. How can you forget someone who hates everything that you eat? How can you forget the girl who has suffered the pains of folliculitis for her whole life? How can you forget someone who drinks orange juice straight out of the bottle as if it were gin? How can you forget the late nights of laughter and insanity and "Shure, Daddy, shure"? You cannot forget such a life. You cannot.
And so here is my eulogy, for my beloved, beloved Kathryn Randolph. I will simply stand at the front of the church, as she lies--beautiful in death as she was beautiful in life!--in her coffin, as rows and rows of weeping family and friends look at me with tear-stained faces, and say:
"Milk was a bad choice."
5 comments:
hahaha
awesome.
i'm glad that she didn't die =)
i love you two a lot.
haha. ditto.
your posts make my day, Abby. ;) Thank you for your sweet wishes about my life here . . . I feel so thankful to be here, though I admit that every day isn't always smooth sailing. I'm learning how to balance things now - if you have any tips on how to squeeze in reading for fun and still sleep I'd be appreciative. ;)
May your Saturday night and Sunday be filled with this gorgeous fragrance of fall!
Hey abby, i am so sorry that I have YET to call.... believe me, dear. I will.
I love you.
Anna
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