I met Annabelle at a time when she was lost and I was really, I mean really, high. It happened in a lonely area of Vermont where I knew I could grow my marijuana without fear. Although my rusty pick-up usually scares girls, Annabelle thought my car was her salvation. She had run out of water a few hours earlier and had no idea how to get back to her car. When she approached my camp something told me she didn’t want a puff of my joint; she asked for water and I showed her my six-pack. Watching her downing two beers I thought she was tough but as I found out later, she rarely drank. That was without doubt the reason she started sharing her personal life with me.
“Every summer we would hang around the foundation that my father built. If I close my eyes I can easily travel to that time when dad showed me how to select the best stones: ‘Do not trust limestone, granite is far more reliable. We are going to build a house that will last forever!’ Poor soul, his foundation never had any purpose other than storing the empty cans of beer that during college years my cousins and I didn’t care to pick up. You probably think that I’m just a nostalgic person. Normally, I’m not, but today I thought seeing the one thing my father ever built would help me. The truth is that I haven’t been here for a very long time and I’m afraid I got lost. Thank you for the beer.” Continue reading…
