Caught in a stare, they quickly attempt to look past you, or they dart their pitying eyes pretending the stare never happened. One would think that after thirty years of friendship they would be able to confront your illness with a bit of dignity and truth, and set aside the patronizing, half-hearted, overused, "Well-you-look-good," approach, when you know as well as they that you don't look good at all. You saw what you looked like before you left the house, and you left anyway. Tonight you decide to confront the issue head on. You take a step toward them...okay, a half step, and on your face you have plastered...okay, draped the biggest, crooked, little smile you could muster. Your eyes look up. The stare is back, and worse, they know you're coming. Just 20 more feet. That's only 120 festinating steps. Come on feet. Don't fail me now.

michael b.

(please add your paragaph...just 1...to this little story. Express yourself.)