I have a strange memory. I remember everything (although there are portions of my senior year in college I will admit to having blanked out on, which is probably for the best). I can tell you what clothes I was wearing on certain days and can even tell you what day of the week it was. I know which gas stations I used to stop at on my long drives from Chicago to Pocatello and what songs were playing on my stereo at certain points on those trips. On more than one occasion my friends have heard me say ridiculous things like, "It was Friday the 12th because on Monday the 8th we all went to that dinner where so-and-so tripped because he was wearing those shoes he'd bought downtown the Thursday before. When we skipped class. Remember?" It simply does not quit.
I'm telling you this because it was two years ago tonight I was sitting at my desk waiting for Ken to come home from work. It had been a busy day grocery shopping for our quiet Thanksgiving dinner later in the week, tending to the chores and taking some time out to watch bits of Gone with the Wind (as I do every year right before Thanksgiving). Duncan and I had been playing and dancing (to Jimmy Sommerville's cover of the Frankie Valli hit, "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You") and I was in a silly mood so I downloaded a photo off the internet, which I hung, as a joke, in front of his food bowl and water dish, just to see if Ken would notice (he did. Two days later). When I moved a few months later I brought that picture with me and put it up for him again. Numerous people have asked about it (I can even remember who) and I always tell them that although I don't understand Duncan's "lifestyle" I support his right to live the way he wants.
If Duncan could talk I'm sure he's either thank me or say nothing and merely shake his head.
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