Thursday, December 11, 2014


This is one minor memory of a deceased friend. I have many, but not enough.

It was March and we were both drunk, walking across the cold campus of Harvard University. Neither one of us belonged there. I felt conspicuous. He felt like a spy. We were in our early 20's.

“I want to steal something,” my friend said. “I want to steal something from Harvard.”

“Like what?”

“Come on. Follow me.”

We sneaked into a building. I followed him straight to the basement.

We walked down the hallway until,“Aha!” he found a lightbulb he wanted. He unscrewed it and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

“Come on let’s get out of here,” I said. Committing crimes always made me nervous.

Then we were back outside and passing a building with tall windows that went straight to the ground. A library. Books and students behind a wall of thick glass.

We noticed a pretty female student sitting at a cubicle, studying. 

My friend walked over and tapped on the glass. She turned. He 
pulled the lightbulb out of his pocket and held it up for her to admire. Then he gestured, `From me to you,' and placed it on the ground by her feet.

He bowed and we walked on to the nearest bar.

It was a small, poetic gesture befitting a small poetic crime.

The girl probably thought he was a creep and a weirdo and has no memory of his gift.

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