I remember our Saturday mornings at the farmers’ market, how you would fondle a juicy heirloom tomato, and glance at me suggestively. You told me that Bernie was the only candidate capable of taking decisive action against climate change, and the only candidate ready to take on factory farms and the proliferation of brussels sprouts, which we both agree taste like garbage. You also said our country wasn’t ready for a woman president. To this day, I regret not taking that tomato and throwing it right in your face.
Still Composting Despite It All,
You were the one guy who ever went to yoga with me. I loved watching you plant your strong feet into the mat, channeling the tree the teacher told us to envision. I imagined that our love was rooted like that too — strong but flexible enough to withstand any weather. But then an unceasing gale blew: you were all “Bernie this, Bernie that. Bernie is going to give people free college. Bernie guarantees universal healthcare, Bernie had a bird land on his podium.” So what? Here’s another bird for you.
With you, Bernie was always there but rarely discussed, much like the mountain of dirty tie-dyes in the corner of your bedroom. Despite my aversion to music that sounds like someone gave Raffi a Stratocaster, I went with you to a bunch of Phish shows, including that one at Coventry where we almost drowned in mud. I don’t know if it was the veggie burritos, the neglected porta-potties, or the drugs, but everyone on tour really liked Bernie, which was reason enough for you. I’d like to make up my own mind on this one, thanks.
P.S. I listen to Pussy Riot now.
I used to love watching you paint; you were a quiet presence beside me as I sorted through piles of bills that I paid with no help from you. You were sure Bernie would help “struggling artists” like yourself. Even though you never personally learned about his policies, all of the women you dated during what you called our “open relationship” kept telling you that he was your ticket out of debt. You know what else would help you get out of debt? Becoming financially independent.
Playing ultimate frisbee with you in college was a literal high point in my life. Remember that I time I snuck some weed into Canada and the captain went apeshit on me? Thanks for smoking with me when no one else would. You were all about Bernie because you said he was the one candidate ready to legalize marijuana. You’d light a blunt and shout, “Let it Bern!” to the woods, your skin glowing as you laughed knowingly. Those were good times, but then you disappeared into a cloud of smoke when I brought up our racist criminal justice system.
Good Luck With Your New Dispensary,