{"id":2677,"date":"2019-05-01T00:00:00","date_gmt":"2019-05-01T07:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/?p=2677"},"modified":"2023-06-28T17:57:30","modified_gmt":"2023-06-29T00:57:30","slug":"leave-a-note","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2019\/leave-a-note\/","title":{"rendered":"Leave a Note"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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Leave a Note<\/h1>\n\n\n<\/div>\n \n \n By<\/span>Sydney Ahmed<\/strong>\n \n May 1, 2019<\/span>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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Gerald Foster was a creature of habit. He would stare at the ceiling fan, and with every whooshing noise, he\u2019d count a tally until he felt like getting up. He stretched his limbs before leaning over to polish his wooden cane, always making sure he shined it until he could see his reflection. Then, he would begrudgingly hoist himself up and journey to the bathroom, where he would brush his teeth and carefully part his rapidly greying hair to the side. He\u2019d dress in one of his many flannels, which lined his dresser in colorful rows, folded neatly side-by-side. Then, he\u2019d proceed to the kitchen where he\u2019d boil a pot of water for his instant coffee. The only mugs he owned were the floral patterned ceramics his late wife Amber had picked out. With the creamer mixed to his satisfaction, he would retrieve the morning paper from the front lawn and move back to the porch that sagged just slightly downward. The old planks would squeak under his weight as he moved across them, the sound of his heavy footsteps followed closely by his cane. The wooden rocker that he had made by hand so many years ago rested comfortably in the corner.<\/p>\n

This morning, the sun had just started to rise, outlining the houses with a halo effect. He plopped himself into the rocker and sipped his coffee. The back-and-forth movement aggravated the porch planks, which gave the occasional protest, but the chair itself never so much as creaked under his weight. There was a barren spot next to his where Amber\u2019s chair used to be. He sold it last year because it reminded him too much of all the times they would sit alongside each other and rock gently with the wind. He found himself missing her most in these mornings.<\/p>\n

Christmas was three weeks off and the neighborhood was lit up with decorations. Across the way, Gerald could see the Sanders\u2019 infamous collection of inflatable reindeer, complete with a giant Santa Claus, tied to their roof. Gerald didn\u2019t plan on decorating his house because he didn\u2019t care to participate in the holiday festivities alone, but he still enjoyed seeing his neighborhood adorned with colorful lights and fake snow. It was early enough that most of the houses still had holiday lights on from the night before.<\/p>\n

Today, he decided to attempt the paper\u2019s crossword first instead of last. Gerald was perfectly aware of what anyone would think if they observed him, as solving the crossword was a practice reserved for old people. But Gerald knew he was just that\u2014 an old man. He enjoyed doing the newspaper\u2019s crosswords because they kept his mind active, and there were few things left for him to tend to nowadays.<\/p>\n

He was having trouble with 11-down when a whining noise disrupted the street. In the distance, an old Chevy cranked its way toward Gerald\u2019s house, which lay at the end of the cul-de-sac, and eased itself onto his driveway. Just over the hedge, Gerald looked out in disbelief. He squinted at the driver\u2019s seat, unsure of the figure behind the car\u2019s windows. A woman threw open the door and stepped out, and, mimicking her, a small blond boy popped out from the backseat.<\/p>\n

Her wiry brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She stood there, dark circles and fine lines etched neatly into her face. Her figure seemed fragile; she looked as though she was wrapped in skin.<\/p>\n

\u201cLaura,\u201d Gerald said. He used the cane to hoist himself up. It had been so many years that saying her name felt odd on his tongue. It was as if he finally remembered a word he had forgotten. Nine years had erased so many memories that Gerald had forgotten much of his own child.<\/p>\n

Time had left its mark. When Laura left home, there was no note, no explanation. The only mark of her departure was her disheveled room, raided of some clothes. She\u2019d been seventeen. Amber and Gerald were left to cope with the sudden loss of their only child; they waited to start a family only to enjoy it in brevity. They speculated, at the time, that her sleazy boyfriend Carmen played a role in her disappearance, but they could never confirm it. The police closed the investigation soon after, because Laura turned eighteen. They concluded that her disappearance had been willing.<\/p>\n

Gerald could think only of the moment he called the police to report what he\u2019d lost. He could almost feel his body go numb again, seeing her now. He remembered having trouble telling them what she wore to school that day because he never saw her in the morning. And then he couldn\u2019t recall when she stopped asking for his morning pancakes. An aching pain gnawed at his heart as he looked at her now. It was if he had woken up in a different universe, one in which Laura pulled into the driveway regularly for weekly visits with her father. Gerald never knew how to deal with Laura leaving, so he hadn\u2019t. He did his best to just go on with his life. It had been harder for him to watch Amber. Although Gerald had long ago accepted what he could not change, Amber never did.<\/p>\n

Trailing closely at Laura\u2019s hip was the blond boy. He wore a blue-and-white striped shirt with a chocolate stain near the collar. The striped lines emphasized his tiny, round belly.<\/p>\n

Standing at the foot of the porch, Gerald watched as his daughter and the little boy came closer. Laura stopped to open the rusty front gate, ushering the boy in first, and then herself.<\/p>\n

She smiled tentatively at him. \u201cHi, Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gerald didn\u2019t know what to say.<\/p>\n

After a moment, he blurted,\u201cYou never came to the funeral,\u201d Then, \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d He took a step forward, moving to the side of the porch\u2019s alcove. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you come inside? Warm up a bit. I can make some food for you two.\u201d He motioned to the home\u2019s entryway.<\/p>\n

Laura\u2019s mouth opened into a small o-shape as if she was about to speak, but instead she shrugged her shoulders and abruptly closed her lips. Her right hand gripped the inner side of her left arm and she moved the little boy in front of her. The boy came to rest his head against her belly button, staring up at Gerald, a tiny human shield.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, it\u2019s so nice to see you,\u201d Laura finally said. \u201cThank you for being so understanding. I know this is so sudden. And this is Timothy, he\u2019s eight.\u201d She smiled down at the boy. Timmy\u2019s head was covered in blond hair that was so light, it was almost white. His big brown eyes looked up at Gerald in wonder.<\/p>\n

\u201cTimmy, say hi to Grandpa.\u201d<\/p>\n

To Gerald, the notion of being considered a father to a child he barely knew felt daunting enough; now, in front of him stood a little boy claimed as his grandson. Laura stood at the house\u2019s entrance. Her face appeared unfazed as though the situation wasn\u2019t unsettling, as though she hadn\u2019t been gone for almost a decade. Her demeanor upset Gerald. In Amber\u2019s last days, she couldn\u2019t stop asking where Laura was. The Alzheimer\u2019s hit the hardest toward the end, and Gerald had to remind his wife time after time that their daughter wasn\u2019t coming home.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello!\u201d Timmy exclaimed, hopping up the porch steps. He opened the front door and Laura followed closely behind. Gerald leaned over to pick up his mug and newspaper, astonished at the turn of events upsetting his morning routine.<\/p>\n

Gerald took great care to prepare breakfast for his two guests. He was overcome by a sense of d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu as he delicately poured plops of pancake batter mix into a pan. He placed the food in front of the little boy first, whose eyes widened like saucers. He served Laura before placing a bottle of maple syrup down on the table, finally turning his attention to his own pancakes.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know this is all so unexpected,\u201d Laura said.<\/p>\n

Gerald chuckled. \u201cI\u2019m glad you\u2019re here. We have so much to catch up on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know you have a lot of questions and I was really sorry to hear about Mom,\u201d Laura said.But before we go into a history lesson, I just need to let you know that I\u2019m only staying for a few weeks.\u201d Gerald hesitated before adding another plop of batter to the pan.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust until I get some things in order,\u201d Laura continued. \u201cAnd I really appreciate you being so understanding with how weird this is and just being so nice,\u201d she rambled as her leg bounced under the table. \u201cGod, I know this is so awkward,\u201d she said with a laugh. She reached for the maple syrup and started squeezing it in a zig-zag fashion over her plate.<\/p>\n

Gerald smiled at the sound of her laugh. He was glad he could recognize some parts of her. But then he frowned as something jolting came to mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did you hear about Mom\u2019s passing?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe town paper.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou saw it?\u201d It had been published almost three years ago, \u201cLaura, have you been\u2026nearby?\u201d Gerald looked at his daughter. His chest tightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no, not nearby. I had to pass through town, just a few times.\u201d<\/p>\n

He repeated her words in his head, wondering when she had been in the area, thinking of where she had been staying. He glanced over at Timmy, who was trailing his tiny finger over the plate slowly. The little boy\u2019s face was mere inches from the plate as he drew shapes and swirls in the syrup.<\/p>\n

Gerald paused before saying, \u201cYou must be tired, I\u2019m sure.\u201d He looked away from Timmy. \u201cStay as long as you\u2019d like, you can take your old room. I\u2019ll let you and Timmy get settled.\u201d<\/p>\n

As the week wore on, Gerald went on with his days as before, only now with a new routine. His usual cup of coffee turned into two and he prepared a small breakfast for Timmy and Laura in the mornings. He read the newspaper inside at the kitchen table, solving his crosswords there. Most days, Laura was gone until sunset and Gerald got to spend time with Timmy, who he quickly learned was a curious boy.<\/p>\n

Timmy questioned everything. He would walk around the house and observe dusty objects displayed on their shelves. Playing with books, trinkets, and random objects found in junk drawers, Timmy would trail back and forth, asking, \u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d every time.<\/p>\n

One morning, while Gerald was sipping his coffee, he watched as Laura trudged into the kitchen, smiling and reaching for her coffee.<\/p>\n

\u201cA package came for you yesterday,\u201d Gerald said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, thank you\u2026\u201d Laura paused. \u201cFeel free to just leave them when they arrive. I can bring them in at night\u2026just some things I\u2019m moving around and need a place to keep them.\u201d She held her mug with both hands and observed Timmy in the room past the kitchen, toying with a little wooden eagle.<\/p>\n

\u201cAfraid I\u2019ll have to,\u201d Gerald chuckled. \u201cPhysical labor only on the occasion,\u201d he said, tapping on his cane, which leaned against the table.<\/p>\n

The packages arrived in various forms. Most were just big enough to wrap one\u2019s arms around, but a few were so large, Laura had to push them across the floor, weaving her way through the house. Often, they came in bundles, left one on top of another on the porch.<\/p>\n

Gerald would observe the phenomenon every night while sitting on the couch reading. Laura would spend the entire day away, and at night, he could hear her footsteps approaching the door before seeing her. Usually, she already had a package in hand. She executed her routine, treading the same path: through the front door, past the living room and kitchen, then down the hallway to her childhood bedroom and back. Without fail, Timmy would abandon whatever he was doing and follow her each time, sometimes helping to carry in the smaller boxes. Other times, he would merely imitate an act of assistance, as his tiny hands touched the undersides of the bigger boxes she carried. After finishing, Laura would always head to the kitchen to heat up the dinner Gerald left out.<\/p>\n

One night, Gerald heard the familiar sound of her footsteps and the jingling of the spare house keys he had given her. Laura\u2019s upper half popped through the door frame.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi,\u201d she said in a greeting. Timmy sat on the rug by Gerald\u2019s feet watching cartoons on the TV.<\/p>\n

\u201cCould you guys help me bring this one in? It\u2019s a little bit on the bigger side.\u201d<\/p>\n

Timmy immediately sprang up. Gerald reached for his cane.<\/p>\n

On the porch was a large, square box. It dominated the entryway. Gerald could see why Laura had requested help. Slowly, they began to push it across the doorway and into the house. Inch-by-inch, they pressed their weight into the box\u2019s side and journeyed down the same path Laura usually took alone. Finally, they made it to her childhood bedroom, where they would leave it, centered. It was the biggest box in the room, surrounded by many others and a several envelopes on the desk. The room had come to resemble a storage unit.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was heavy!\u201d Gerald huffed. \u201cWhat\u2019s in the box?\u201d<\/p>\n

Laura scratched aggressively at her arm. Her eyes scanned the towering boxes that covered the free space of her old room. The top of her white bookshelf remained visible, the shelves stacked with Barbie dolls and stuffed animals.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d she responded aimlessly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI said that was a heavy box,\u201d he repeated. \u201cWhat\u2019s inside?\u201d<\/p>\n

By now, Timmy had departed the room to watch more cartoons.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, nothing,\u201d Laura paused. She took a moment to catch her breath while scanning her old bedroom, its faded floral wallpaper and dusty picture frames closing in on her.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she continued. It was at that moment Gerald decided to know. He reached out to rip up the folded tab of the large box, ready to pull it apart when Laura squealed.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, don\u2019t worry about it!\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at his daughter and, after a moment, conceded.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s nothing to worry about,\u201d she said in an almost-whisper. Gerald let out a sigh before reaching for his cane, and the two headed toward the kitchen.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow was your day?\u201d Gerald asked. He came to rest against the counter. Laura, sitting at the kitchen table, began to eat dinner.<\/p>\n

Her mouth totally full, she responded: \u201cGood, I\u2019ve been commuting to the place I work still.\u201d She shoveled more into her mouth, clearing the plate and fixing her eyes on the white of the dirty dish, her right hand mindlessly scratched the crook of her left arm. Gerald noticed her leg bouncing.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, what are all those packages, Laura?\u201d he asked. He eyed her as she went to the refrigerator and came to rest against the counter with a fresh beer in hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere are some things from our old place that I thought would fit better here. There shouldn\u2019t be many more coming,\u201d she shrugged. \u201cI don\u2019t think there\u2019s much more.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, that\u2019s fine and I understand. But\u2026why are there so many? I mean, the last one\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Laura sat back down at the table, leg no longer bouncing. Her eyes bore into the plate.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust some things,\u201d she continued tersely. \u201cI don\u2019t know what you want me to say. It\u2019s stuff, OK? I need storage space, OK? It\u2019ll be gone once I\u2019m settled. I\u2019m almost settled.\u201d Her mouth came to form a thin line.<\/p>\n

\u201cAlright, alright,\u201d Gerald said. He paused, then said, \u201cI\u2019ll let you get some rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gripping the edge of his cane, he eased out of the room. From down the hallway, he looked back at his estranged daughter, seeing just the outline of her figure resting against the table, illuminated by the kitchen\u2019s light bulb. Her head rested in one hand while she nursed the beer with the other.<\/p>\n

Laura and Timmy had arrived exactly two weeks ago, and Gerald wanted to ensure they were enjoying their stay. He found himself gravitating toward the supply closet more frequently until finally he opened it, immediately reminded of its function as a makeshift junkyard. After rummaging for a while, he found at the back what he was looking for: old boxes stuffed with holiday decorations. He began to scoot them out, letting an umbrella and an old lampshade topple over in the process.<\/p>\n

\u201cTimmy!\u201d he called out as his scissors made a satisfying slice through the duct tape. The little boy trudged over. In his hands, he held a stuffed unicorn and a small robot toy from the Happy Meal he had devoured yesterday at McDonald\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gerald began shuffling through the contents of the box, where garlands and shiny ornaments revealed themselves, along with nutcracker dolls. He had forgotten how Amber had loved collecting those.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought you and I could put up some Christmas decorations around the house. How does that sound?\u201d<\/p>\n

Timmy began going through the boxes, growing quickly unamused by what his hands picked up: snowflake ornaments, knotty strings of Christmas lights, a Santa Claus suit that had been stuffed into a plastic bag.<\/p>\n

Looking up at Gerald, the boy frowned. \u201cI want to know what is in the boxes Mom brings home at night,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Gerald shrugged. He could provide the boy with no consolation, for he dealt with the same desire.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have to respect your mom. She asked us to just leave them in the room for now,\u201d Gerald replied. \u201cLet me show you this game.\u201d<\/p>\n

The answer did not satisfy Timmy, who dropped his toys and bolted down the hallway toward Laura\u2019s bedroom. With a heavy sigh, Gerald reached for his cane.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, Timmy let\u2019s not cause any trouble,\u201d Gerald yelled out, hobbling down the hallway. He nudged the door farther open to see Timmy on top of one of the boxes. The boy stood on his knees with his hands on a sizeable box.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy can\u2019t we open just one? I want to know why they\u2019re here,\u201d Timmy said. The edges of the box were worn down, the corners banged around.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause we were told not to touch the packages, so let\u2019s respect your mom\u2019s request.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust one box. There\u2019s so many and she won\u2019t care.\u201d Timmy\u2019s big eyes shone eagerly.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, see here, if we open one box, we have violated all of your mother\u2019s respect.\u201d<\/p>\n

Timmy began rubbing the box\u2019s side. He stared back at Gerald with a mischievous smile. He got off his knees and climbed up onto one box.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can open just one little box!\u201d the boy exclaimed.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not the act that matters,\u201d Gerald stated, \u201cIt\u2019s the principle of respect.\u201d His left hand rested wearily on his cane as his right one hovered over another box. He stared down at the child.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe wouldn\u2019t want to disrespect your Mom, now would we?\u201d Gerald inquired, \u201cWhy don\u2019t we take a drive to the store for a bit instead? There are some things I need to pick up. We can even stop for some ice cream after.\u201d<\/p>\n

Timmy\u2019s eyes lit up as he found a new, sweeter thing to give attention. He jumped down from the box and headed toward the driveway while Gerald let out a sigh.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can get whatever flavors you want,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

The sun had almost set and a dark blue dripped over the cul-de-sac. After pulling the car into the driveway, Gerald leaned over to grab his cane from the back seat and stepped out, appreciating the cool nighttime breeze against his face. Timmy had already reached the front door. His chin rested against the screen frame as he waited for Gerald.<\/p>\n

The little boy bounded into the kitchen as soon as Gerald unlocked the door, beating the old man to a seat at the table. Gerald moved slowly toward the kitchen. Over the counter, he could see the little boy\u2019s blond head.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow do we feel about chicken tenders?\u201d Gerald said.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom left a note,\u201d Timmy replied. He sat with his eyes glued to the front door. His tiny hands stuck to a single sheet of yellow paper, the same pads Gerald used to scribble grocery lists.<\/p>\n

He plucked the note from the boy\u2019s hands. The note read in thin, slanted handwriting:<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve left his papers organized and labelled on the desk.
\nThe boxes hold everything I have of his and a little more.
\nThere\u2019s some money in the envelopes on the table.
\nI know you will take better care of him. I hope you understand.
\n– Laura<\/em><\/p>\n

A sinking feeling grew in Gerald\u2019s stomach. He looked back at the boy, who sat there motionless. He felt as if a large grape had suddenly appeared in his throat, trying to force its way down whole. He put his hand on the boy\u2019s shoulder. Timmy looked up, his eyes shining, brimming with tears poised to spill over.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t get it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey,\u201d Gerald said. He sank.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will sort this out together,\u201d he whispered. He began to make dinner with mechanical motions, shaking the frozen bag to break apart the chicken tenders, placing them on the pan, side-by-side and in perfect rows. He stared at the bright numbers on the oven\u2019s top panel. They read 7:12 PM. The blinking colon marked every passing second, and he tallied each one. Thinking of Amber and her adamant refusal to accept their daughter as someone who wronged them. A tally of twenty-five seconds. Ruminating over his failures as a husband and, more so, as a father. Forty more seconds. Resentment toward Laura and her refusal to accept responsibility, at least some accountability. Sixty more seconds. The time had changed, and those red figures dominated his vision..<\/p>\n

\u201c-pa! Grandpa! Grandpa!\u201d Timmy shouted. Gerald, startled, looked up.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sorry,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

Timmy\u2019s eyes bore into his. The little boy\u2019s eyebrows crinkled so tightly together, there was no separation between the two.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy did she leave? Why is she gone?\u201d He picked up the yellow paper. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t she say goodbye?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d Gerald let out an exasperated sigh. \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs Mom coming back?\u201d Although phrased as a question, it didn\u2019t sound like one as he spoke. He stared at Gerald and repeated. \u201cIs Mom coming back?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d Gerald looked down the dark hallway. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, son, I don\u2019t think so.\u201d<\/p>\n

The response wasn\u2019t enough for Timmy.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy did she leave? She\u2019s not coming back.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gerald touched the deep part in his hair. He combed through the greying strands, starting at the middle part with his finger and stroking down to his jawbone.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not coming back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not coming back.\u201d Timmy repeated. Gerald sat down at the table next to Timmy and took the boy\u2019s hands in his.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not coming back. But it\u2019s not because she doesn\u2019t love you.\u201d He took Timmy\u2019s hands and placed them on his temples, and slowly, their foreheads touched.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe loves you very much.\u201d Gerald sighed. \u201cBut sometimes love is not enough and we let go; it doesn\u2019t mean we don\u2019t still love. It just means love is not always enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

Timmy\u2019s eyebrows crinkled further together. A few silent tears fell.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t expect you to understand right now,\u201d he paused. \u201cOne day, you will.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I can stay here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you can stay here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you\u2019re not leaving?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNope, I\u2019m right here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Timmy pulled up his shirt collar, wiped his cheeks and stood up.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I open the boxes now?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gerald looked at Timmy, who looked older than when he first popped out of the backseat two weeks prior. Perhaps it was the way his hair almost brushed his shoulders now, or how his clothes that were two sizes too small. He felt his chest swell.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, you can,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n

Timmy quietly stepped out of the kitchen and made his way down the hallway. Gerald set the timer on the oven and followed. Along the way, he passed by his wedding photo that hung on the wall, and for a moment, it appeared to Gerald that Amber\u2019s smile beamed a little bit brighter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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\n\n \n

Sydney Ahmed<\/strong> is a junior at USC, double-majoring in English and economics. She holds a love and appreciation for both disciplines. She can usually be found reading during her off time, usually with a key lime pie nearby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":288,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[40],"tags":[52],"class_list":["post-2677","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-spring-2019","tag-prose"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nLeave a Note<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2019\/leave-a-note\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Leave a Note - Palaver Arts Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2019\/leave-a-note\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Palaver Arts Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/palaver.arts.magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2019-05-01T07:00:00+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2023-06-29T00:57:30+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/175\/2023\/06\/palaver-logo.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"710\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"198\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"akcannon\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2019\/leave-a-note\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2019\/leave-a-note\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"akcannon\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/live-usc-dornsife.pantheonsite.io\/palaver\/#\/schema\/person\/8ac801b3c8176b6860207b43ecbe9e78\"},\"headline\":\"Leave a Note\",\"datePublished\":\"2019-05-01T07:00:00+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2023-06-29T00:57:30+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2019\/leave-a-note\/\"},\"wordCount\":3,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/live-usc-dornsife.pantheonsite.io\/palaver\/#organization\"},\"keywords\":[\"Prose\"],\"articleSection\":[\"Issue 05: Spring 2019\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2019\/leave-a-note\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2019\/leave-a-note\/\",\"name\":\"Leave a Note - 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