Little Me

Little Me

My mother was only 17 when she had me. She was a perfect loving mother in her memory. 

My mother was only 17 when she had me. She was a perfect loving mother in her memory. 

Little Lisa in the tall grass.

Little Lisa in the tall grass.

Hair selfie
A rare photo of me with both my parents, before they divorced.

A rare photo of me with both my parents, before they divorced.

Maraschino Cherries

"Let’s go to lunch", I said, so we went to Ruby’s on the pier without the kids, without her husband. The salty wind blew our hair as we walked down the pier over the waves, and I think I held her hand for a moment, if I remember correctly. We had maraschino cherries in our diet cokes. We had to check (we always did) to see if we each had the same number of cherries. It was our thing. I don’t know why. We pretended it mattered if one of us had more, but truth be told, I would have given her all of mine, if I knew she really wanted them. I loved her so. We were so happy that day. Just being together, and being sisters, and knowing we’d always be close. Except now we aren’t. Who knew? Somehow, maraschino cherries just don’t taste the same anymore.

I miss

I miss my sister so much. I wish I could just erase the things she did and the cancer in her soul that made her do them and think them to be right, and just enjoy the good that I hope is still somewhere inside her.

Free surgery? Free surgery?

 At The San Pedro Theatre club