Remembering Lida

While straightening the clutter in my cellar, I find the chest. Inside I see the drawings and scraps of papers - secret notes we’d passed to one another in our science class. We met as children. Startled, then amused, I laughed at her peculiar foreign accent; then we laughed our years through school together. (Our escapades were nearly criminal!) As foreign as dear Lida was her illness. It came just when our futures had seemed bright. With every operation that she faced, despair reflected deeper in her eyes. Immersed in recollections, I now sit and read our notes; I’ll clean another time.