Caboodle the Extraordinary Cat
Caboodle was a sweet but average cat. Not especially beautiful, intelligent, affectionate or agile, she lived a long, happy, uneventful life. When she died in September 1999, my husband and I buried her under a rose bush in our backyard. That October, the month of my 50th birthday and long after the last rose had faded, a single bloom emerged. For about 10 years after Caboodle’s death, a single rose would bloom in mid-October. Pretty extraordinary, for an average cat. — Judith Karp
A Tribute on Toast
When my father-in-law died this summer, I inherited an unopened jar of the orange marmalade he loved. It’s not my favorite. But I’ve been slathering it on toast to honor the man who raised my husband and embraced our relationship when his son came out to him 20 years ago. His marmalade reminds me that some tastes are acquired, that preference often feels indivisible from acceptance. The acrid pulp requires a tolerance my own father would not have had for his queer Black son. I make room for the marmalade’s bittersweet complexity the way my father-in-law made room for me. — Ennis Smith
Jeff from 3rd Grade
The guy staring at me on the A train looked vaguely familiar. I texted my mother, “Wasn’t there a boy named Jeff who sent me love letters in 3rd grade?” I was creeping up on 30 and tired of being the fifth wheel at gatherings with my friends. The next day I got a message from Jeff on social media asking me if I remembered him. The next weekend we had our first date. Turns out we live around the corner from one another. Now we’re happily together. It only took two decades. — Erin Hernon
Under the Tree
This squirrel stared at me, wondering why I was sitting under its tree. I always come to this tree when I feel out of sorts. I was supposed to have a date that day but never got a text back. Friends say it has nothing to do with me. Mom says, “You need higher self-esteem.” I love myself, but I’m slowly unraveling, trying to see myself the way I know I should. Under the tree with the squirrel staring at me, I thought, “It’s nice to have other living things acknowledge me.” — Mia Mitchell