Laurie Laurence

It’s 1860. No woman has rights. Or was voice. Basically useless. But your boyfriend Laurie, was not big on sexism. He was so supportive of anything you did. Anything! And you wanted to be a writer. A poet.

Every published declined your request of putting your work out there, so you went home crestfallen. You’d been rejected a hand full of times. Maybe even two hands full.

In the huge huge room you do your art in, you’re talking with Laurie as he sits down and you paint in frustration. Laurie just looked at you.

When you mentioned how Jo is in New York as a writer, you’re a failure.

He tries to come off funny, saying, “That’s quite the statement to make. At…twenty.”

Then you rambled on how useless Paris made you feel and how much out of proportion Rome blew you. You’re a failure. Not an artist. At least to you.

Once you reach a topic on love, he mumbles, “Poets might disagree.”