by S.K. Evans
Well, if Ian King can profile inanimate objects, so can I! I want to talk about emails. But is an email or a cough really inanimate anyway? Inanimate means not animate or lifeless. 
The word animate comes from the Latin anima which means breath but also soul (soul!). I’m not sure about coughs, but emails can certainly have soul.
I love emails. I labor over them, leave drafts in my inbox for weeks, rewrite them and feel personally offended when they go unanswered. I also love the impulsiveness of emails. I’m always shooting them off, saying the wrong things. Or, sometimes, saying the right thing because I didn’t give myself a moment for doubt.
Recently I’ve been corresponding (via email, of course) with an old love. With the old love. We all have one: the one you grew up with, with whom you created some kind of bond borne out of love but also out of the stupidity of youth. These emails are so often filled with all kinds of passive aggressive jokes and heartfelt sentiments that make you realize both how well you know each other and how far you’ve grown apart. Apparently, for example, I am still a melodramatic writer.
Quelle surprise, my friend! You are still arrogant and obtuse! But, I say this with love…
This correspondence is rare and nothing if not innocent. We live hundreds of miles apart, both physically and emotionally. But what these emails do is stir up all the silt that has settled on my life, shrouding my hopes and dreams. I remember what I felt when I was nineteen and where I thought I’d be by now. I’m nowhere near there which is both sad and comforting. We’re all in this struggle. Together and apart.
I love emails. Especially emails from people you love. Sometimes they have the quasi-magical ability to wake you up, turn you around, bring you back.
by S.K. Evans
I was browsing the philosophy section of Barnes & Nobles, trying to find a Terry Eagleton book to buy for a boy who would never appreciate it, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned to see a boy with an attractive, bespectacled face, a face which I had known so long ago. He asked me, in a polite and somewhat confident tone, if I had gone to such-and-such high school. Of course, I already knew who he was. He was the same and he was different—in that familiar yet disconcerting way we all seem when confronted with an intersection of our past and present. I doubt that in high school 
he knew how to scale and gut a fish or that he hosted elaborate multicourse dinner parties in a Williamsburg apartment. And I know he didn’t listen to, or write about, obscure indie rock back then—though he does now—because he recently reminded me that I introduced him to the Pixies when he was fifteen years old. But something about him still felt familiar.
The places where our lives intersect are so often punctuated by sex. This mystery blogger and I had never slept together or even touched lips, but a thread of sexual intrigue weaves its way through our friendship. My first love was a high school friend of his; since then, Slice Blogger and I have had our separate fair share of stolen kisses, secret sex, and laughably awkward encounters with a variety of mutual friends and acquaintances. In a way, little has changed since high school; we both have full time jobs and a longer and longer list of lovers but we still spend hours talking about our latest heartbreaks and listening to sappy music. What have we really learned? Maybe nothing more than how to do it all with a little more style.
Hi!
Welcome to our “Slices of Life” blog. The concept is simple: we want to take the time to focus on the little things in life that we normally would let pass us by, but that are actually the details that make the world extraordinary. We’ll be posting entries every few days from folks across the globe describing something they observe that makes them pause and smile or ponder their surroundings. We hope these everyday observations allow you to see the world in a new way. Enjoy!
If you have a little slice of your day that you’d like to share, we’d love to hear from you at blog@slicemagazine.org (an accompanying photo is always welcome).
And please, if you haven’t already, click here to swing by the site for the magazine.
