The Truest Thing I Read Today, March 18, 2014

There was no formal memorial service. David wouldn't have wanted one. But a few of his closest friends gathered other friends at a house near the Mall, and Sara went, and took Jason. There were lots of beautiful women, women she'd never met, and several of them seemed mildly drunk and very upset. Sara asked Jason's godfather, "Are these all the lovers?"

And he had said, "At Brecht's funeral, there were many mistresses, but everyone knew who the great love was."

"How?"

"She was the only one who wasn't crying."

"Thank you," said Sara, as if his anointment meant anything.

-- Lea Carpenter, Eleven Days