Mark Rosenberg

I had a friend named Mark. Mark passed away a few years ago. He was a good guy. I was friends with him during the time I was with Drew, the man I didn't marry, so when we broke up, I stopped hanging out with the rest of those friends... I guess I thought a clean break was the right thing to do. I was probably wrong about that.

Anyway, it meant that I wasn't around when Mark passed away, and I didn't feel good about not going to his funeral, and all that - it was a hard time for me, but still: I probably should've gone, anyway.

But I mention him here because there's this one crazy thing that Mark used to say (he was a funny guy, with a very silly sense of humor. He loved beer, atrocious clothes, bargains, cars, and Depeche Mode, unfortunately; but he was big-hearted and loyal and a lot of fun, too; all those study sessions with him and Drew meant that I got an A in algebra for the first - and last - time ever), and it has to do with feet.

If we'd go out to eat (and we did, eat out a lot, all of us, or he and Drew would make these crazy, multiple course meals for us when we were studying), and the food was particularly tasty, Mark would say, in this weird little voice he had:

"That was so good it made my foot fall asleep."

And I don't know if that's a real phenomenom, or just something that happens coincidentally, or if he knew something I didn't know, but as it happens, on occasion, I will have eaten a special or hearty meal, and every once in awhile I'll find that my foot has fallen asleep. And it is at that moment that I will think of Mark.

And then I remember all those times I had to get out and help Drew push-start Mark's piece of shit car!