Waving goodbye to everyone — announcer, orchestra leader, orchestra — I felt happy. A few of the other musicians applauded!
Tati, my father, waited with a big smile. I was almost at the studio door when I heard, Enshuldik mir, efsher kenst du schreiben dein nomen far mir?”
Chalk and summertime and childhood.
Chalked games on sidewalk squares outside the house.
Potsy and Hopscotch and Skelly.
Chalked games that could be rained on.
Chalk was found in pockets for after the rain and was always used to its
nub. No waste.
Chalk meant connection, automatic inclusion. …
This creative nonfiction is based on a loved one of mine, now gone. — BZG
They’re finally taking me over to the cemetery. I’ve been begging them for at least five years to ride me over — just for a little look-see.
I’ve got a pair of dark pants, a…