I said no at first when she asked me to come to the synagogue Friday night.

I wasn’t ready, had to do laundry, take a shower, shave, all before no time had passed. But I decided I should at least try to embrace life. Maybe I would meet someone.

Of course, I could go another time.But maybe the person I needed to meet would only be there that night. Mostly moms and shit, anyway, so whoever might be would be rare and obvious. Chick rabbi a possibility.

In my mind.

So, I threw stuff (not good enough but the best I had) into the washer and took a shower and shaved. And cut my head up.

And didn’t go.

Couldn’t. Not with a blood-capped head.

Had grappled with the whole thing anyway, maybe going was desperate. Be methodical, right? Everything in its time.

But then I’ve used that as an excuse before.

She who asked me didn’t go either, anyway.