Unfinished Pieces from the Past

On April 19th 2011my lovely husband Richard Cassidy Boone went crazy. As is generally the case with these things, nobody knows why.
Sophia and I were cuddled up on the couch watching Looney Toons, devouring bowl upon bowl of rice crispies. Sophia loves it when Bugs dresses up like a woman. Every time he sensuously beckons Elmer Fudd she gushes out floods of chocolate milk sending rice crispies sailing every which way. She’d laugh and I’d laugh too.
A voice from up stairs:
“Sirrah, what made your master in this place?”
We couldn’t hear it of course. Even if we hadn’t been laughing so hard, we were lightyears away in a cartoon forest. We, the fuzzy two-headed beast stitched together by blankets and throw pillows, walked in place as identical redwood backgrounds looped themselves over and over. All we had to do was roar jovially at the tip-top of our lungs; everything else seemed to move forward on its own.
Even now there’s something very comforting about that image.
“Tell me in sadness, who is that you love?”
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“Soft, I will go along. An if you leave me so, you do me wrong”.
Richard coos me his newest song. Since he’s been on this all expense paid trip to white walled Verona he’s learned how to play blues guitar. I’ve learned how to crochet sweaters for dogs in a local botique. The doctors tell me he’s a prodigy. Every so often they sneak him out to give concerts at special events and birthdays, “nothing too big,” says Dr. Cambell P. Boyle, head psychiatrist of the W. P. Boyle home for the mentally ill, “just a little bit of fun here and there”. I consent; the exposure to new people can only be beneficial they tell me.