The games of youthful romance:

Exorcism #2 (I must confess to a certain moodiness)

All right, J. Alfred Prufrock measured coffee spoons is what you want? That’s what you’ll get. I had this ex Melinda who was into coffee. We were together two and a half years. Last I heard she married a musician and was living in Seattle, she’s a librarian and he’s a bitter ex-academic. They met at Clemson after her year in Japan. Perhaps you know her. Anyway, he didn’t get tenure somewhere, got angry, and got gone. It’s one of those stories.

When we were together Melinda had this thing about coffee. She thought coffee belonged in every aspect of one’s life. She bought this coffee cookbook and subjected me to terrible pastas and horrendous cakes in which coffee grounds appeared like a stale gravel garnish. She and I fought like no one I’ve been with since. She had an un-tempered temper and loved and then hated me in equal extremes. She was much smarter than I am, read twice as fast, but lacked then the experience to intuit too much. For all her haste she left much waste. We were a compliment that most didn’t get. Sometimes people actually winced that we were a couple. She abraded my friends like her granular cuisine and drove many away. Few took the time wear smooth to her company. I would imagine that she is an astounding woman now. We’ll take this moment to wish her well. With sorrow Miss Morrow we bid you adieu.

“I am so sick of being compared to Ellie. I don’t look forward to your letters anymore. I’ve never known what you were looking for in life and I hope you find whatever it is, but I don’t want to be a part of it. Please don’t write to me again.” Melinda