July was the cruelest month in 22. On the day after Independence Day, I was in a café when she finally called me back. It had been two days of silence. Though I assumed that she was coming home to me that day. But instead, her new man left a message on my phone saying tthat she did not like conflict and hey were going to Europe next week to get married and that he was sorry.

Fast-forward a few weeks and much drama and alcohol later… One night before bed scrolling through arts news in some publication, I caught a brief review of the latest work by Emily St. John Mandel. And knew right away I had possibly, finally, discovered a special writer. Someone to add to that shelf of favorites before I had even read a single line.

And tonight probably not even 25% of the way through Station 11, I felt so good that I wanted to stop and message her on Instagram immediately. And tell her all about how this was connecting with me in my life. And how brilliant the last couple of pages were, how poetic, thrilling, how much like film, painting, and amazing embrace…

So there Emily, you’ve touched me in the heart. We have fenced, you might say, touché!

Earlier this afternoon while working on a three letter spot in a crossword puzzle, I came across an intriguing clue: “The tongue of the mind…”, Cervantes.