by Janet Dale
I remember the time we met in front of F. Scott. You were having a thing for Jay and I was having a thing for Dick, two of his flawed heroes not being loved by Daisy or Rosemary, but by us instead. Later I found a used copy of his short stories from 1974 – the spine was bruised and torn, but I had to take it anyway because I’m a sucker for bruised and torn. You offered to fix my book for me, work your healing powers in the way of glue and care. When you gave it back, it almost seemed brand new. Sometimes I feel just like that book, even though I don’t think I ever told you that.
Janet Dale, who blogs here, is an undergrad at the University of Memphis, set to receive her B.A. in English (Creative Writing) in December. Current stresses include M.F.A. applications and philosophical writing.