by William Brown

Created on: August 09, 2008   Last Updated: June 08, 2011

Photo of Dot

Fishing through the overcrowded top drawer of my bureau, I find a picture of my friend, Dorothy. I called her Dot.

I felt attracted to her vulnerability the moment we met.  a state of being I understand, and for which I feel compassion. In contrast, and most intriguing to me, was she hid it behind a disciplined posture of assurance. Very well done, I think. Undeniably, her manner projected a manner particular to the well heeled, upper class part of society, which sets them apart from an "anything goes" mentality. I both envied her bearing, and felt protective for it at the same time. I knew, somehow, bearing the weight of this regal facade denied her more than she deserved.

She offered no resistance to my self introduction, which I believe involved  instictive trust  uncharacteristic of her. I felt it , and liked her at once to her bravery.To me, she personified  a silly little girl, full of love to give, exiled to the body of a woman aged past her prime. The irony of this felt charming and comical, and sad. As time went on, sadness lifted and I began to see dark comedy became her.

Given several decades difference in age, I would never imagine two more improbable beings than we, in the role of best friends. We enjoyed each others perspective of life, and soon everything asked of the other became acceptable. Our friendship became an undisputed fact among those people observing its development.

When she died, it mattered.

I don't remember the occasion, when you gave me this photograph of you. I should have written it on the back.  Now you aren't here to remind me.

But it is coming to me...  yes,  your 35th birthday!   You are in Newport, and your horse has just won at the track. The expression your  face, or maybe the lack of one, is priceless. I called it  nonchalance.  You just took this photo out of an album, without fanfare, and handed it to me. I can still see it in my mind, a leather album, hunter green boardered with gold trim, and hand bound by you. It was one of many, all identical, sitting in perfect alignment on your library shelf. I remember being impressed you knew exactly where to find it. I didn't quite know what to make of it then... you giving  me this picture of yourself,  the age I was on that very day.

 I always felt the feeling, Dot, you wanted me to do something with it, perhaps chronicle a history of you, and  of the family whose name you bore. Still it remains a mystery. This photograph of  brings out tenderness in me, and I remember each and every sentimental moment shared together. There were so many of them.  They now seem comic and moasic.

Thank you for this memento, Dot.

I'm happy to havenot lost this, or stuck it in with other odds- and- ends photos.  Very likely I would have missed this moment with you. You are part of who I have become, dear Dot, and this means the world to me.

Thank you for letting me be your pal.

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