Last

"Nothing lasts, and yet nothing passes, either. And nothing passes just because nothing lasts."

Philip Roth, The Human Stain

Chapter Eighteen.

     After I hung up the phone, it rang a minute later.
     "You think I'm talented, don't you?" Lucy said.
     "Of course I think you're talented."
     "Okay. I was just checking. Good-bye again."
     And then she was gone.

From Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty

The last chapter. The last words Ann exchanges with Lucy. I can't remember what my last words were to Chris. It was a Thursday evening the last time I saw him. I wish I had been a better friend. 

Is it okay to write letters to a dead person? One reason a letter can be mailed back to you is the recipient's death. I don't know if that's right or fair. But I guess you can't do anything about it. 

Written in my journal a week ago. Because I don't want to fail my memory. 

Chapter Seventeen

     "Don't stop loving me."

     "I'm always going to love you."

     "Don't stop taking my calls."

     "Lucy," I said. "Check your answering machine sometime. I call you every day."

From Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty

Chapter Sixteen 2

"I have the most extraordinary friends. I've never really understood why everyone has been so good to me, and now I can interview them, talk to them and see." Then she added as a gift, "I'll write a whole chapter about you."
     "I could write an entire book about you," I said, and laughed.

From Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty

She did. Beautifully. 

Chapter Sixteen

     When we were walking home, she softened and maybe felt a little sorry for making a scene, if only because she knew I hated scenes. She twisted her arm around mine. "Don't listen to me," she said. "I just get going sometimes. You know that."
     "I do."
     She pushed her head into my shoulder. "And you still love me?"
     I was still mad at her, furious with her, but that wasn't the question. The question was did I love her. And I always loved her.

--From Ann Pathcett's Truth and Beauty 

Such friendships are rare. The kind you always love and understand and forgive. The kind you see each other in years at a restaurant and slip into a conversation so easily. A first and singular and irreplaceable kind of friendship.

I pride myself in having one. And one is enough because Lizzy is brilliant and funny and of course, the only person I know who has read almost every Russian author's thick and impossibly long books. The letters and phone calls cover our fourteen-hour distance and although I have not seen her in--I lost count--six years, I know she's always there for me. 

Chapter Fifteen

Dearest Anngora, my cynical pirate of the elusive heart, my self winding watch, my showpiece, my shoelace, how are you?

--From Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty

Lucy's letter to Ann. One beautiful way to ask Ann about the depth of her life.