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  • Writer's picturePhillip Gerson

An Very Awkward Run In with Somewhat Former Friends

Updated: Nov 21, 2021

I found in my photos today an album known as... the farewell photos

These are the pictures I felt that I had to take before moving across the country.

These were, I thought, just some random things I had to toss because the pod was smaller than expected and keeping them no longer made sense.

As I was scrolling through the pics, realizing what I had lost, I began to feel like I was at a party I never should have attended.

Oh hey


It's great to see you guys


Everyone is here

I was ...not expecting that.





You might call the party a... celebration of digital remorse, And because of relocating, and turning new chapters, and moving, and losing things along the way I felt quite awkward with each encounter.


Is that you? Holy shit. I miss you man. I do. I mean that. You know why? Because during certain challenging adolescent times, it was you who helped me have Magic Fucking Johnson on my back like a pimp for years. And you were resilient as hell. Even starred / lived through a summer camp game known as Capture the Flag, in which you were the flag, and you were lost for weeks and I was bare chested for the remainder of the day. A Capture Snafu. But you were soon found, after a few weeks, and then you captured my heart, yet again with only a few minor tears, and all the thanks goes to you and... It's great to see you.

I paused.

So... Yeah....

And then things at this fictitious homecoming party got even more awkward which is understandable.

In my mind all I could see was that saddening scene with me at the dumpster only hours before our we left.

Then I saw her. Across the room.

Dear Lucy,

I need to talk to you. And this might take some time so thank you in advance.

Where do I begin?

You know as well as I that my relationship with VHS has been a long journey with each move bringing more loss and sorrow. And you are not a recorded sitcom on a crusty old JVC. Your case is huge! And more importantly, you are filled with the words of a comedic genius. And who am I give you up after all of these years? Who am I? Really. Who am I?

How have you been?

At the party I had this continuous feeling that my fellow attendees were getting closer and closer. And I had to be on my toes.

Paper towel holder!

You look wonderful and you know I haven't forgotten about you, homie. Don't think you are not a part of this. Spinning around over and over again and having that extra mini-wooden-pole off to the side to keep the final paper towel still perforated in the scroll, contained and not stretching across the cabinet, or even worse rolling out across the kitchen floor and forcing one to face the decision if that is okay. But you don't allow that. You keep the roll tight, you keep a tight ship, and roll and turn and, don't get me wrong, you would loosen up from time to time. Who doesn't? And sure, sometimes tightening you up a bit was a tad difficult because of the microscopic slots of an odd Phillip's head, and the resulting fingernail injuries ,but it didn't matter because you continued to stand tall and now I want to stand with you.

Does that make sense.?


What do we have here? Could it be.

Vermont Sweatshirt!

Nice to see you! Did I ever tell you that you had a rejuvenating year of popularity in 2016 as Bernie rose to stardom. People giving me high fives? It was beautiful. What am I saying? You were there. You felt it.

I see you still have the stains. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. You've had the stains as long as I have known you. In fact, at times,, early on, when we were getting to know one another, I would ask myself in the shower if I am someone who can begin a shirt relationship with a piece of clothing that is already stained

What does that mean of me? I am most certainly stained as well.

Not to be a downer. It's good to see you man!



I love you guys! All of you!

I really did start to feel like I was on a roll. Endless reconciliation with these blasts from the past.

Oh. Hey Lampshade. How are you doing. Long time no shade.

I'm Kidding.

I know you don't want to believe me but it is true.

I wasn't hard on you.

I tried you everywhere in the house on everything in the house but you were just too furry, too strange, and did not fit with a single lamp. And thus you were hazardous in a very real way.

But I've thought about you. And what hard work actually means. And I think about me. And when someone causes another to search deep down into the inner workings of their soul. That means something.

It makes you light up like a lamp.


I'm kidding.

I figured I would leave the party on a high note. I mean, truly, in a matter of minutes I became the funny, old friend, and not the negligent former owner, and as I approached the exit, that's when I saw the one thing I was hoping I would not see at this par-tay.

Hello, hello, funky 90s mirror, it is good to see you. And me.


Yep. Yep. From the stoop sale. Yep. When I felt like I had to buy something.

I just wanted to leave the party. That's it. I was so ready to depart with grace.

That is all.

But the mirror had all kinds of comments.

Of course I remember when we met.

And I approached YOU

. Yep. Totally true.

The mirror had heard the story many times. But I couldn't help but capitulate to the reminiscence.

Yep. I was walking home. And I saw there was another stoop sale going on so I had to take one obligatory peek. Then the weird, self-proclaimed vintage vendor that lived there started eyeing me and I started to get nervous and I only had 2 dollars in my pocket.

And so yeah...

The mirror was waiting for it. I was ready to head home to my glorious awkwardlessness. And when all else fails, you have to appease.

Oh yeah. It was quite a day. I was looking, searching for something I could purchase, fit in my backpack, and treasure forever.

And I saw across the way, beyond the black, iron fence, a tiny speck, growing larger and larger, and I squinted, and closed my eyes, and opened my eyes, and pretended I didn't know what I was seeing unfold.

But I did.

Inside this loud-ass mirror, no offense, was me. And would continue to be me, whether you, my funky 90s mirror, were in a box, or under the bed, or buried in the closet, or crooked on the bathroom wall (for a very brief period of time) it was you. And it was me. And we were one in the same.

And now, once again, it is you and me. Close to the door. Going in separate directions once more.


I should go.

And so I did.

And never returned.

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