Three Endings and a Funeral
This weekend I buried my pet potato. Hairy Potater came to me as a gift from my brother-in-law, Parker, who, when scrambling to make me something for Christmas, asked my sister Abi what I wanted. Abi called me. "I don't know," I said, predictably indecisive. "I'd be happy with anything. I'd be happy with...a potato that looks like Harry Potter." Well. Happy Christmas, Hairy. I am sure that Park did not expect me to like the present, much less keep him. Much much less take him on field trips around Boston. Hairy visited me at school. He loved the Boston Public Library: "It's like magic." We even went to Harvard, which he kept pronouncing "Harvwarts." Hairy was my quarantine buddy. We went on walks together and sometimes he sat by my computer while I worked. We met squirrels and enjoyed a snowy, empty Boston. But alas, all things must go the way of the earth, most especially potatoes. My roommates kept asking when I was going to bur