Something About This Feeling

But the song was over after about five minutes, and one couldn’t go on listening to music that made you feel like that forever, and worse, even if you found music that made you feel like that, it wouldn’t always make you feel like that. Everything had its life span. Would you like to share something, Julius? That was Wilbur’s boyfriend, Hank. Share what? She’d spoken that day at AA. She could recycle what she’d said there, maybe, say it in a rhythm that gave it a poetic feel. She’d been quite impressed with some of her own turns of phrase. None of her insights were things that hadn’t been said many times before, but it was the first time they’d been said in that room, with that exact group of people, and that situation would never happen again, and, it occurred to her, that was something not so boring. That moment, that unique moment, would end. Like all things did. And most of the time that made things feel meaningless, but earlier that day, it had made things feel inconceivably precious. Everything was so heartbreaking. You can share anything. A poem—any poem, doesn’t have to be one you’ve written. You can read it off your phone. Or sing a song. A knock-knock joke. Whatever. Julius felt like she was back in school, which she’d been good but not great at—just short of being a star pupil, which was worse than being an awful student, because she was never the teacher’s favorite nor their least favorite. She was just Juke. That Reginald girl. Decent. A bit of a hanger-on and a know-it-all, though she didn’t actually know anything. We’ll come back to you, said Wilbur, and you only have to share if you want to share.