Chapter 47

Frida Rodriguez ... En Route

June 14, 1993

Paris, France

Fair Kate,

Whew! RELIEF! You don’t think my essay reeks. I’m not sure what it’s going to be yet, but now that I’ve started I can’t stop. I’ve written seventy-eight pages so far. Confession: I’ve been sneaking around behind your back. After all the grief I gave you about MFK there was no way I was going to ask you for more of her books so I slunk over to Shakespeare and Company and found The Gastronomical Me and Two Towns in Provence . Do Not Gloat! I get what you were telling me now about how whatever she writes feels like a natural part of who she is. That’s how I want my writing to be. Not imitating hers but natural to me – minus the pinball punctuation. How come you didn’t tell me MFK died last summer? You lost her and Laurie in a single year. You probably didn’t tell me because I was such a jerk about her. I hope there’s not an expiration date for apologies. Je suis désolée.

I’m not the crystals and woo-woo type but I do think we have some kind of cosmic connection and here’s why. The other night the universe burst into our correspondence to make a point. Lejla showed up with flowered curtains from the flea market, and I told her how her gifts make my room feel like a sanctuary, but I feel guilty enjoying it when there are children in her country who can’t even play outside without the risk of being shot.

Get this. She got mad at me. She says that kind of thinking is self-indulgent. We owe it to people who are suffering to savor everything good and beautiful we have in our lives. Not that we should deny bad things or turn our backs on them. But if suffering is contagious, then why isn’t joy? Which virus do we want to spread? We don’t help someone who’s miserable by being miserable – we only add to the world’s misery. Lejla knows her best friend’s life is in genuine danger every single second, and she does one beautiful thing for someone every day to show the bad guys they’re not winning. She lets herself feel joy so she can share joy. After all, you can’t share something you don’t have! I told her about you and she said don’t waste time worrying about why you’re dancing. Just keep dancing! Then I taught her how to make a crank call, but it turns out they don’t really translate in French.

Cultivate beauty and joy, Fair Kate!

Frida

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