You wore your diamonds to work today. They remind you of your sparkle... when you were 17, your mother sent you to get your graduation portrait done by this guy who took photos of you and your mom when you were five. The guy Brenniman, used to be a Bobby in London, came to the states and has an amazing business (has done portraits of Prince Charles, Arnold Schwarzkopf, et cetera, your mom found him before he got famous, and you remember the railroad house he had in Old Town. It was so dark and straight out of a BBC film). You were having a shit-time around when your mom sent you to get your photo done, and you kept giving the bobby shit, and not really smiling. Finally, he says, "I want to see your sparkle! Think of your boyfriend over there saying something ridiculous."
Of course, at the time you were dating a 23 year old, just out of West Virginia running from a warrant, huge tattoo of a dragon on his head, working as a chimney sweep. You met him through your bartender best friend, Silvia, she was his sister. Needless to say, he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, but a lovely man who just wanted someone barefoot and prego with a big heart. He promptly met that woman after you broke up.
"Show me your sparkle!"
You gave that man the biggest smile.
For the chance of the third death being the mean being inside of you: continue feeling (page 16 or 17), dealing (page 12, 30, or 44), and healing.
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