i would hear amy's voice & my ears would tense, she sounded so much like my friend renee. how they cut vowels or a certain percentage of air goes through their nose. i always looked toward the sound. i bought magnets from amy. There's a vent above the bathtub causes a draft that sucks the shower curtain against my soapy shoulder & knee. i realized i could put magnets on the bottom of the shower curtain & it would become a sail that allowed me to shower without a cloak. i remember explaining this to her after laying the magnets on the wood counter. she smiled blankly. i imagined she thought, "This one's nuts." sometimes i go weeks without going to her store. one gallon pickle jar with a gash in the metal lid. sign said Money for amy's dakota. Every little bit helps. white paper, scotch tape, marks-a-lot. down the sidewalk, co-worker smoking a cig. i passed him, paused, & walked back. Hey, i said, Is dakota someone amy knows who needs help; & what's with the fund amy set up for them? No, he said quietly, Dakota is amy's 3-year old daughter & her back was broke in the car wreck that killed amy. Oh, i said as he exhaled smoke, I'm sorry. You know, i'd walk in & amy's voice always reminded me of my friend renee. i exaggerated the motion of my head looking to amy. he laughed, relaxing about answering my questions. he looked down the street, the cigarette moved to his lips, & i walked away. i think he always remembers me as the guy who said that. last summer, standing outside the docter's office drinking peanut butter & jelly & banana sandwiches from a mason jar because my jaw was broke, my eyes catch on the sign across the street. 2 years, amy, we miss you, dakota starts kindergarden next month. i looked at my watch. august 14th. the day she died. the sun on my back. one hand rested on the shade-cooled cement & the other hand held sweet sticky that would appear to passer-bys to be a jar of throw-up. i wore mirror sunglasses & a slight smile into the eyes of a woman walking down the sidewalk. she never noticed me. she did not see the tear slipping down my cheek. i still see the hem swishing over her legs & her hair swaying in the sunshine next to the traffic.