beforehand, i had explosive diahrrea.
the twenty minutes prior to our interview- when i stood on the east side of park avenue clutching a bouquet of hydrangeas and talking on the phone to partner- are the closest i've ever come to feeling i might die.
and she isn't even my jackie.
praise be to god that jackie is not alive to be interviewed. i could not bear the terror that would excite in my bowels.
for some people, GS is their jackie. i have jackie and so she wasn't and yet still this was the single most nervewracking experinece of my life.
still, i saw my life flash before my eyes.
still, i was grateful my mother was in town and hugged her as though i were leaving for war.
so that happened. and, truth be told, i don't really remember it's happening.
what i remember is the handle of the mug into which she poured my coffee. how there was nothing but soy milk in her refrigerator. how i leaned forward when i asked my questions (the questions i'd woken up early that morning to write).
how after it was over i called my father and told him how, as she hugged me goodbye, she'd said "i'm sure that, if someone had to write this, she would've been glad it was you."