Way back in Kingston, I lived with a lovely young gal named Lilian. Total sweetheart. We worked together, trekked many blocks to do our laundry together, smoked cigarettes together. She was the first to ever throw me a surprise birthday party. A writer, a dreamer, blessed with a sultry, soothing voice. Every time I listen to the Sundays, I think of Lil.

If I could change anything about the year we lived together, I would have been nicer.

It shouldn't be a surprise to anyone reading this that I am not the easiest person to live with. I've actually gotten better over the years, if you can believe it. Perhaps it was her kindness, her idealism, her ability to find hope in everything that made me want to hurt her, to wake her up. I was at my ugliest then, and I am sorry she bore the brunt of it. A rough year of roommates, it must have been for her: Crazy Glen, Anal-Retentive and Petty Kim, Bitchy me. Why she didn't end up smothering any of us in our sleep, I don't know. Oh, I do know. She's a good person, that's why.

A few months ago, we reconnected. I miss her, but I'm glad we've stayed in touch. She's living in Victoria now, a journalist. So who knows when we'll see each other again? But when we do, I will be sure to give her the biggest hug, so that she will know how sorry I am that she had to know me when she did.


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