Little Gabe
*** I first met Gabe in our middle school’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. While I starred as Bottom, he, on account of being two years younger, was resigned to playing “the wall.” He wore “Gabe, you have a visitor,” my mother cryptically a sheet painted with a brick pattern and rigidly stuck out his arms while trying not to laugh the whole time. calls from the door. I leave the sauce I’m cooking to In the scene I remember most vividly, I faked a kiss simmer and walk out of the kitchen, forgetting to set through a V made by Gabe’s hands, which ostensibly down a large silver pot lid. I am confused because we represented a hole in the wall. are amidst a pandemic, it is winter in Minnesota, and, even during “normal *** times” spontaneous visits are rare. As I reach the Gabe begins our first front hall, through the conversation in well over a year screen door, I see him. by asking, “How’s Grinnell “Hey Gabe,” he online?” At first, I am pleasantly says. Despite my shock, surprised that he remembers the I am quick on my feet college I attend. While I spit out and reciprocate. I ask my platitudes about how “it’s not mother to turn down the burner and stir my puttanesca great, but I suppose it could be a hell of a lot worse,” sauce. Then, I step outside to catch up properly. Six I realize I am wearing a black hoodie with “Grinnell” feet apart, I sit atop my front steps, slouching, while boldly emblazoned in white across my chest. I am he stands on the sidewalk, wearing a goofy lumberjack disappointed in both of us. Did he even remember hat, his quintessential childish grin and, perhaps, the what I intended to do after high school? And he must faintest trace of a smirk. know that I’ve turned myself into a sweater person,
Gabe Ferguson
“Wearing a goofy lumberjack hat, his quintessential childish grin and, perhaps, the faintest trace of a smirk.”
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