A Cellarful of Nose - Future Shoes

made it right.
It was a snap to change the essay online to alter everyone's
identities, per Richard's request. And I "sort of" apologized to him
– "If you are offended, I am sorry" – but you hear the
qualification in the offer; it was needling and thin.
I was ashamed, but did not want to be told to be ashamed.
So I was surprised when Richard emailed me this year,
encouraging me to attend this year's reunion. In the past few years
it has become an annual event, so that the commune continues to
exist, not as a nostalgia item but in real-time via email and regular
regathering. It had morphed into a virtual commune, held together
by interest and affection.
I thought I would be unwelcome, because of my commune
exposē, so I demurred. Also, I was unsure why I would go,
exactly. Were these former hippies truly "friends of my life"? In
truth, I have many friends from many different eras. I let many of
them go, and did not miss many of them terribly. Why were these
old friends any different?
But other friends, like Julia and Donna, urged me to get out
to Colorado. And suddenly, a planned vacation to Utah with
Rachel and the dog made a side trip to Jacobs Hill not just
plausible but almost unavoidable. It would be silly to be way out
there and not venture up to the hill again, to sit by the campfire
and stare up at the mountain starscape (I have never seen a sky
anywhere that compares to it. It is like a window on the universe
at large.)
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