Follies of Youth

I would enjoy this fact — the scent of trees budding, the twitter of birds migrating their way back to the telephone wires, the bluest skies we’ve experienced in months — except Basia’s stupid course flyer is stapled to every tree I pass. I almost reach out and rip them down and then think how society has not had much understanding lately for people who rip down posters. But still. I settle for grinding my back teeth until I arrive home.

I bang the door open like a crazy person; Avraham jumps like a foot in the air.

“Menucha! What on earth?”

I sink into a chair and close my eyes.

“Menucha?”

Avraham, I want to say snarkily. “Those flyers,” I snap instead, “are getting on my last nerve.”