Thomas by Jeff Mann
(for Cynthia Burack)
We said our goodbyes twenty years ago today. As poorly as I remember numbers, I remember that date: the 19th of September. The day of my greatest loss, really. Still, my memory is as unreliable as anyone else’s, so, for the sake of accuracy, I’ve dug through dusty boxes of old journals for confirmation. Yes, my entry for September 20, 1991, reads:
Washington, D.C. 6:50 A.M.. He’s gone. For all intents and purposes. Leaving Monday. I refused—unable to see him privately again—to hang around this weekend, to put on the ultimate acting job and see him with d**k. My sense of time is disjointed. Can it be only seventeen hours since he came into my office at two P.M. yesterday to tell me d**k got the job in Boston? That time between now and then seems n
