Spent the evening with David in his office. Tried one of his bacon gum balls, a gift from his fun-loving wife. Truly dreadful. We talked books and movies. He generously did my taxes and fed me soup. When he went for spoons and napkins, I sensed a spirit in the room. She was me six years ago. Thin. Size three. Eating coleslaw and jo-jos for dinner, covering, in her depressed mind, all the major food groups. For years, David spoon-fed life into her. "You can," he kept saying. "You will." She was there for a moment, not even a shadowy sense of a shape. To remind me, I think, of where I've been.
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