Excerpt After the Fires, “Memory Lapse at the Waterfront”

Memory Lapse at the Waterfront

Dear Jolene,
I am sitting under the tree writing to you. How are you? Well I hope. Over here things are usual. The paper shortage is getting worse and worse, which is why I am writing to you on Saran Wrap. Finding an envelope should be real interesting but I guess it doesn’t really matter, as you will never get this letter any way. I don’t even know whether you are still alive. I don’t know whether California is still there, or whether it finally dropped off into the sea like everyone always said it would. Sometimes I feel like going down to the waterfront, finding a boat and rowing to California, if that’s what it takes. Except of course there aren’t any boats. I can’t even remember the last time I saw a boat.

I like to think of you when I’m sitting here under this tree. We sure had some wild times together, didn’t we kiddo?

Last week the rodents tried to cut the tree down. Of course we didn’t let them. We threw garbage and they left; it never fails. They said they wanted to make it into paper. I don’t know what they’d do with paper anyway, except maybe wipe their butts. Bunch of illiterates. It’s funny about the memory. I can’t remember how long it’s been this way. Sometimes I forget altogether that there ever was a Before.


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