Wow, new page to write on.

Today was my sweetie doll's birthday. He's twenty-eight. If my mom was still alive, she'd owe me $100.

We had this on going inside joke about twenty-eight year old men. My parents separated the summer before I turned fourteen. My mother and I essentially started dating right around the same time. We found all kinds of humor in this, so decided to set some ground rules. At this time I was 14 and she was 42. We calculated that 28 was exactly half way between our ages. We said any guy older than 28 was hers, and younger guys were mine. If they were exactly 28, we'd flip a coin. But if they were 28 and PERFECT we would have to have a catfight (too bad this was before we could have settled it on Jerry Springer). And whomever got a 28 year old first won 100 bucks.

This was all in jest of course. I wasn't even allowed to date a guy who was seventeen.

Still, today has been a difficult one for me to get through. I really want to talk to her. Even if the surface reason is to playfully gloat, it just reminds me that I can't call her up any more. You'd think by now that would seem real to me. I used to get all kinds of fun messages if I went so much as three days without speaking to her. To quote: "Once upon a time there was a little girl whose mother loved her very very much. The little girl grew up to be a strong capable young woman, and her mother still loved her very very much. Then the girl went to college and never called her mother again, and her mother was very sad." Anyhow, I can't imagine that I haven't spoken to her in over three years. There's just something inately wrong about that.

I am ok with all of this about 90% of the time now. But things like this, like reminders of stupid jokes, are difficult. I think I am so ok, and then realize how thin that layer of ok-ness is. I can start to cry instantaneously when I think about her.

Once upon a time there was a young woman who thought she was an independent adult...

-Chasha Ruchl bat Esther