Costume Parties
By Olga Choedron
Gosha, Goga, Igor- I loved playing with the vibrant sounds of your nicknames when I was three. I loved playing with your collection of toy soldiers, stamps and cars when I was five. I loved the rides with you when you took me to elementary school in your truck. No one else on our block had a private car then. I loved the wit and humor of your friend group when I was the youngest kid at your costume parties. That cold February night when you didn’t open the door of your apartment, The dark cloud of loneliness engulfed my teenage mind. The tears didn't dry up on my face for two years, watering flowers on your grave. Until I became a fitness buff and Vivekananda’s teachings lifted me up. Your death came before our grandparents’. They outlived you by barely a year and I was there to witness the agony of their last breaths. I wallowed in grief to the sound of our favorite rock bands. Tsoy’s songs were a way to make sense of all these deaths. Vodka shots with neighborhood boys couldn’t erase the reality of our broken family. Pelmeni never tasted the same again. 26 years on Earth, to make sense of your life experiences and choices,
HVWP COMMONPLACE 5
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