Over on our Instagram page, we're posting a weekly installation from Clare Johnson's Post-it Note Project, a long running daily project. Here's her wrap-up and statement from March's posts.
Life has presented me with many Sarahs; I believe I am not unique in this experience. But I’ve only ever had two main Sarahs — that rare and special Sarah who stays untethered to any modifier (specifying last name, perhaps, or that I mean so-and-so’s Sarah). I’ve been thinking about them. I wrote about one last month — she was my Sarah in college, just for a few years before her death. I find it isn’t tidy, I don’t stop thinking of her just because her death month is over, or a piece of writing is finished. My first Sarah, the surviving one, has a birthday this month. We met in preschool, reconnected in 3rd grade, were mutually ready to commit as friends forever around 8th or 9th (it may have taken a little longer for us to say the words, but I like to think we both knew). She is as different from me emotionally as I could possibly imagine. She is also loyal, thoughtful — somehow knows when I need help, mysteriously can give it in small wordless actions like staying late to do dishes, or coming over to watch a movie, that turn out to mean a world to me in that moment. Every year, starting in high school, we attend the Dina Martina Christmas Show together. As teenagers I think we assumed it was a long-existing tradition for the adults there, but now I see that the show started the same year we first went. Sometime after my divorce, Sarah sent a text thanking me for a ride home after that year’s show. The fact that her spontaneous dating pep talk casually equates my ideal partner with a brilliantly unhinged drag persona (I can’t even describe her, you need to look her up if you don’t know) is perfectly, endlessly charming.