Weight

My brother is collecting pebbles for his dresser. They will be there to keep a wooden carving of Buddha company. I've decided to help him.

And so it was that I collected thirteen pebbles at the beach on Saturday, as I walked the sand with my friend M. M had had a crush on me in undergrad, about which I was somewhat unaware, since I'd known him only as a freshman, and did not quite understand that guys might actually be interested in me.

I discovered his prior interest in me when he visited SF again for an alumni reunion weekend. We went for dinner.

He came to town this weekend on a business trip, and we had lunch.

After the beach, we drove to the stadium to pick up a pin that said "758," a commemorative item for Bond's 758th home run.

As we walked from the car to the stadium, M said to me that he preferred to spend his money on experiences and not things. The one thing, he said, that weighed in favor of things, was that experiences were transient. Things are transient too, I said, and ultimately less fulfilling because they pretend to be permanent.

As I spoke, I felt the weight of the pebbles in my pockets. It's different somehow, when you're carrying things for someone else.