"H ow long were you with us, why are you leaving, what was your greatest frustration?” I recited as Tzippy and I trudged down the avenue to the café at the corner. I deliberately stepped into the fresh areas of snow, as yet untouched by the masses of people passing by this street. “The standard, I guess, though I’ve never been on an exit interview before. I’m quitting because I’m relocating, so it wasn’t like there was any bad blood.”

“I still can’t believe you’re ending up there.” Tzippy reached out to open the door. “You, of all people? You were the diehard I-hate-society-I’m-moving-to-Mars-when-I-get-married type.” She exhaled into the crisp January air. “Gosh, I love this weather. Where’s Idy?”


I couldn’t believe it, either. I’d always envisioned myself someplace out of town, the farthest away from the Tristate area as possible, and was having trouble adjusting to the fact that after over a decade of deliberately forging my own path on the roads not taken, I was moving to the most congested, populated area where cholent beans that cooked differently from the rest of the community’s was the discussion topic on the grocery store line.

Then again, I was also adjusting to the fact that I was engaged to a real-live person instead of a list of attributes stashed in my sock drawer. Every time I think about that paper, I start mentally retching at my younger self, but it had been lost somewhere in the shuffle of the years. Thankfully. (Excerpted from Calligraphy, Issue 704)