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From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Saturday November 1st , 1999 19:27PM
Subject: James Borax
I know you’re in the air…I know you’re flying to a space that is dark… I know you are sitting in a small seat trying to read or watch a bad movie or eating a bad meal or trying to sleep… or drinking a small bottle of booze… (Probably that, right?)
I know these things…
What I don’t know is how you feel…
I can gather it must be horrible…all consuming and dreadful… I can assume these things…
But beyond that I am childish…
What I can offer are my hands, my arms, my shoulder…. You can bury yourself there for years if needed… my shirt is clean and I have no plans…
I am so sorry, darling for your loss… your father is an amazing man…so much better than mine…so much better than many… and the world’s children are truly worse off with his gentle hands no longer being present to tuck us all in…
I’ll see you at the airport…
No!
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