Category: 100 days of letters

To the Bone in Mrs. F’s Neck,

I mean, turns out you weren’t a bone at all. You were a muscle that Mrs. F turned into a bone with the strength of her own mind. I was a child when I was first introduced to you. Mrs. F was the age of my own grandmother. She smiled often and was upright with pressed slacks and a neat blouse and a cane. It was the polio that resulted in your birth, Bone. Or at least that’s the way I interpreted it.

“Eg trodde det var et bein,” she said, gesturing to you, Bone in her neck. Until a doctor revealed your true nature, Bone. When you were squeezed, tears ran down her cheeks. You were soft tissue, but you had been storing tears and those changed you. Made you change form. She was astonished to know that you were mere flesh. Magicked into steel by her own mind.

You introduced an important concept in my mythology, Bone. That pain is written on the body – more than that, pain is stored in the body, to make it strong when it needs to be, and that when it is earned, and when it is quiet and you are alone, you can release it to experience the stinging rasp of actual joy. That is joy: the release of pain. Not one without the other. Never simple, always complicated, never just one thing.

Did you know? Did you know all along what you truly were, or did you get lost in the role?

You are long gone, Bone, having never truly been bone at all. You worked hard and I, for one, will never forget you.

-e.

Dear Roasted Veggie Burrito with Black Beans, Gauc and Sour Cream from Boca Grande,

You were the absolute BEST dish on the menu and that summer I ate about four million of you. You were just about the only good thing about working in that place. That and learning how to make salsa. You are still my dream burrito.

Never pinto,

-e.

Dear Jean Nate After Bath Splash,

You know, it’s funny, I was just recently writing a letter to the Sherlock Holmes Audiobook Cassettes my grandmother lent us back in the 80s and while I was thinking of my grandmother I naturally thought of you. Your smell is so much a part of my memories of her. I don’t know anyone who wears you any more, but how I would love to smell you again. I bet it would slow my heart rate right down. That would be my kind of aroma therapy.

I suppose I could go to a drugstore and buy a bottle of you – are you still at drugstores these days? Maybe Amazon? You know what else is funny, Jean Nate? When I was a kid I never would have thought I could buy you at just any drug store. I mean, that gorgeous bottle with the beautiful cursive writing and the round cap! You were an After Bath Splash for goodness’ sake – I couldn’t imagine anything more grown up and decadent than you. I believed you were fa-a-ancy.

Oh, Jean Nate, I hope that didn’t come out wrong. Fancy is a state of mind, you know? I guess I just didn’t know how within reach you were. How down to earth. I didn’t know I could walk into the CVS near my house and buy you, a 3-pack of blank tapes and a tube of mentos. Maybe it all just goes to show how very much like my grandmother you really were. She was a dignified, put-together woman who didn’t need to spend a fortune to smell nice.

You will always be a part of my memories of my grandmother. I just wanted you to know.

Stay classy,

-e.

Dear Pink and White High Top Sneakers I Had in Fifth Grade,

I picked you out myself. Your coolness was real. You were like Converse – but not Converse. You had two separate layers so you could be styled in multiple ways, flipping the outer pink layer down almost like peeling a banana. Edgy! It was exhilarating choosing something so unusual. Could I really do this?

Remember how hot it was in D.C.? I wore you just about every day of that trip. I bet some of your soles melted into the pavement. In my opinion: worth it. I needed to look cool on that trip and you were there for me.

It wasn’t until we got back home and I was doing something at school, standing on a chair to hang a poster on the wall or something like that, when I overheard two of my classmates talk about how weird you were. They didn’t understand you, they said. What kind of sneakers were you, they asked each other.

I’m sorry I didn’t wear you much after that. I always was pretty susceptible to peer pressure.

I guess I just wanted you to know that what I felt at the beginning – my conviction that you were the best, coolest pair of shoes and that you were made for me – was real, and I never forgot.

We’ll always have D.C.,

-e.

Dear Camcorder,

Holy crap, you were awesome. I could not believe how lucky we were to have you. We could make movies! Music videos! Spoof commercials! After the piano keyboard, this was the tool we needed to fully realize our creative potential.

You saw a lot, Camcorder, I won’t pretend otherwise. A lot of creative fails. A lot of awkwardness. What can I say? The road to auteur is not always straight.

But what about that Indiana Jones spoof? That murder mystery? The Yoplait commercial? Man, we had some moments.

My kids now make movies on our iPhones. That’s cool. I feel sorry they’ll never know the comforting weight of you on their shoulder. The solid feel of your tapes in their hand. You didn’t make it too easy on us, Camcorder, I guess that’s the point. Remember the junky transitions that came with having to rewind to just the right moment but never quite making it? Ha ha ha … oh my. You held us to a high standard. It made us work harder.

Thanks for the memories,

-e.

Dear Glass Lovebirds Statue We Bought at Service Merchandise,

God, you were beautiful. And I was so proud of you. My sister and I bought you for our parents’ anniversary when we were still little. We must have had help from someone – I’m guessing a grandparent – who gave us some money and convinced our mother to let us choose something unsupervised from the home decor section.

First of all, I knew we were making a solid purchase because we bought you from Service Merchandise, one of the very best stores. The only downside about the place was that it took forever to get there and by the time we all tumbled out of the VW bus and into the parking lot I was both sleepy and nauseous. But that was OK. It was a place where the whole family could shop. They had TVs, camcorders, and Cabbage Patch dolls. They had jewelry in cases (which made it FANCY) and awesome, beautiful sculpture like you, Glass Lovebirds. They wrapped you in tissue (fanciness – confirmed!) and I almost went cross eyed with concentration as I carried you back to that VW van.

Our parents put you on the mantel and I admired you for years until you mysteriously disappeared. Strange. I used to like to trace my fingers along your etched glass wings. I know my mom thought we spent too much on you. But it was a time in my life when I had just realized something about what marriage was. Not all of it – not nearly all of it – but the decision involved. Our parents had decided to get married and have us. They had decided to create our family. I felt compelled to honor that with something beautiful, and boy did you fit the bill, Glass Lovebirds. My conviction that you were perfect was as clear as my conviction that we were a perfect family. As clear as the glass of your sweet, round chests. It was a good moment.

Thank you for being lovely,

-e.

Dear Blind Melon CD Owned by D in my Church Youth Group,

I wanted to borrow you so bad and I got my nerve up to ask D, convincing myself that all I had to do was be brave enough to ask. I was being silly, I told myself. And after thinking about it he said “no”.

I have to respect that. Even then, I got it. I was a very responsible kid and I would have taken good care of you, but back then CDs were prized possessions and he had bought you with his own money. $17.99 was not chump change. I’ll tell you, him saying no only made me want you more.

But all I wanted was to copy “No Rain” onto a mix tape. It was the only song I liked by those guys. I wasn’t about to shell out money for my own CD (sorry). Were there any other good ones, Blind Melon CD?

Oh well. Still glad I asked. Glad you were bought by someone who treasured you. Sounds like you had it made. Tee hee.

-e.

Dear Forest Green Mock Turtleneck Raglan Sleeve Sweater from J.Crew,

Or the Gap? I don’t know. All I know is I borrowed you out of necessity and then when I put you on you were a revelation. I had never before or since felt as right in a sweater. And believe me, I have been looking.

L let me borrow you when we were both traveling and my luggage got lost? or we were traveling together that summer and I didn’t bring the right clothes? Or I just needed a sweater because we were both home on school break and that’s what sisters do when they are together, they loan each other clothes, even if one of them has long monkey arms so her wrists stick out of every sleeve and she also has worse taste in clothes and so is never lending, always borrowing (or trying to borrow, with her too-long arms and feet), even though she is older and this seems backward.

I have a mental picture of an actual picture of the three of us (you, me, my sister) standing in our grandmother’s garden and my sister and I are exchanging sly, fond looks because that is what being there was like – alliances, shared inside jokes, intense boredom, pleasure at being photographed, but also feigned irritation. How silly, our eyes say, we are just standing here, why photograph us? We are just existing in this moment, one that will never happen again, but also one that is similar to a long procession of moments that seem to crush us beneath their weight. I always imagine those illustrations: if you stacked one gazillion paperclips end to end they would reach from here to the moon – well, what’s at the bottom of that tower of paperclips? Two girls trapped in time, in endless meals and searching the newspaper for the TV schedule to find the American shows. In “walks” around the yard.

We would never be that young/old again, our optimism and celebration of being celebrated was soon to expire. Soon, no one would really be very interested in capturing our overlapping existence in a garden. Two girls, missing each other at school, or traveling together for a couple of weeks, or just there together, maybe sharing clothes from the Gap or J.Crew or maybe not, it’s all so hazy. All those times are layered in my mind, THEY are the paperclips in the stack, pinning down a feeling, pinning a ghost of myself to that place in time.

In any case, Forest Green, you were beautiful and I’ve been trying to find your equal ever since.

Miss you,
-e.