Essay about The Most Difficult Anniversary

1569 Words7 Pages
A week had passed since the ten-year anniversary of mom's death and again I found myself staring out the window at the gloominess. Okay, so it's just my reflection in the glass. It was a brilliant Sunday morning with an endless blue sky. The buildings, the Hudson, everything had a winter crispness to it. I wish I could enjoy it, but I can't get comfortable here, can't concentrate. Can't write. Even fifteen stories up, I felt the constant undercurrent of activity. The silent hum of a city that sometimes moves too fast for its own good, my own good. Two ice cubes and two fingers of Macallan sat at the bottom of a silver-rimmed Madison Avenue whiskey glass. Sunday and our pre-church routine is underway. Sarah thought it would be good…show more content…
Adorned in a black turtleneck and gray slacks, she offered me a perfunctory smile as she grabs her coat off the rack. She’s a no-nonsense New Yorker who never met a problem she couldn’t solve. Besides me, anyways. She's also sharp with the tongue when someone needs to be put in their place. Guilty as charged. But she’s genuine and honest, and has a smile that lights up a room, and I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve her. She also enjoys taking off her clothes around me. Or did. Before our problems started. My problems. We met at a writer's conference in Atlanta in. She was there gathering manuscripts, looking for that undiscovered gem; I was there to put Parade of Echoes in the hands of as many editors as possible. I assumed she was just another aspiring author as I sauntered up next to her at the bar. She had the sexy librarian look, wire-rimmed glasses and yellow number 2 pencil through the hair bun. Four hefty manuscripts cradled in her left arm and three flash drives hung from her neck. When I saw her take her seat behind the Barnett Publishing table, I couldn't take my eyes off her. I wanted to pull that pencil out. As the evening wound down, I convinced her to have a nightcap with me. There was a manuscript to discuss, and such. I owed a great deal of my success to her. Yes, I wrote Parade of Echoes after hearing Albert Bolton's story, but Sarah loved my version and believed in it enough to bypass the slush pile and put it on the desk of her boss and
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