It Isn t Time Travel
It is a spring evening in 2000. I am twenty-two years old.We sit across from one another in a restaurant booth. Meg’s black hair comes just past her chin. It’s the shortest it’s been since high school. She’s wearing a white salwar kameez with a green pattern. Her style is always evolving. In high school, she was thrift shop chic. In college she became preppy. She used to hate traditional clothing.It’s the first time we’ve been face-to-face in years.I am leaving in a few weeks. After...
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