These Letters Spell My Name

Dear South Shore Plaza,

I heard there was a shooting at you the other day. I have a feeling I wouldn’t recognize you anymore.

The hours I spent with you! Probably months of my life walking your halls. Searching for the perfect… something. Chasing a feeling of purpose. An activity. A snack. A part-time job. A friend. A dress for the prom. An interview suit.

Remember the banks of pay phones? Remember how many people I ran into – most of them people I didn’t want to run into?

Oh well. Malls aren’t going to survive this whole thing, probably. That makes me sad-ish but also curiously disinterested. You were a big part of my life. Now I barely remember your face.

-e.

Dear Secret Code My Friend and I Made Up in Sixth Grade,

You were very much the embodiment of that beautiful, intense friendship. We could write fluently to each other in an alphabet we created and guarded the secret of with all of our might – well, I guess it is not really surprising that we had to break up four years later. A fire will consume all the oxygen in the room.

Thing is I can’t remember any of your letters now. I have a vague memory of the shape of the

-e.

Dear Gypsy Moths from the Invasion in New England in the ’80s,

I’ve been thinking about you a lot.

Super weird – both my husband and his sister brought you up in the space of two days. And both times I thought, “Yes, that is what I was thinking about too, in the very back of my mind.” Why? Is it something in the air right now that is reminding us? Is there a humidity to this summer that recalls the hothouse Massachusetts summers of our youth? Are your descendants lurking, somewhere near, or maybe far, eating your way through the foliage of some place, and it resonates in the fibers of our memories? Because damn, you all were memorable.

I remember eating lunch outside at my Great Aunt G’s house on the Cape and we had all the dishes covered and we ate with our heads over our plates because you all were hovering over our heads, dropping down onto the picnic table from the tall trees overhead, looming, eating, watching – or not. I got the distinct impression you did not notice us at all.

Anyway, we have caterpillars right now that are supposed to turn into butterflies for a beautiful backyard release. But they are so big, and so preternaturally focused on eating and defecating and growing, that my husband is afraid they sent us some of you instead. What do you grow into, my fearful friends? Who are you after your transformation?

I guess it could be that you are on our minds because we are all thinking about the end of days. Plagues and whatnot. You know.

I hope you won’t be offended if I say I hope to stop thinking of you soon.

-e.

Dear Tofu Triangles from that Thai Restaurant on Thayer Street,

We were there for lunch and yes, I was inexperienced with both tofu and Thai food but that wasn’t the biggest point. The biggest point was that you were her absolute favorite dish, and she used to leave the campus of her boarding school to order you for lunch or dinner all through high school and I was trying to imagine that freedom, that indulgence, that agency while comparing it to my own experience, which seemed so drab, so prescribed. She was so happy to tell me about you, to pay for lunch, to clap her hands excitedly when you arrived at the table. The sun fell in through the large windows. It was the middle of the week. That was my first introduction to a meal with her. Life was full of promise.

I heard your restaurant is gone now. It was a fire? Or construction? I rarely went back after I graduated and especially not now.

I guess I should tell you that she is gone too. I don’t know if you’ve heard that. In the end her freedom wasn’t real.

But that day we shared with you – that was something to hang on to.

Thank you,

-e.

Dear Mango Lassi from that Indian Restaurant on Thayer Street,

Wow, what an evening that was. I felt so uncomfortable but also wildly cosmopolitan, having dinner off campus, choosing Indian food (so international!), walking down those steps into the dim, spice-scented restaurant. I had already tried the falafel stand but this place! Wow. And then I asked the waiter about you and he gazed into my eyes and reverentially called you “nectar of the Gods”.

And it was true. You helped me navigate that whole awkward, exhilarating meal.

-e.

To the Stationary With the Very Ornate, Curly ‘E’ I Had as a Kid,

Why so fancy? I don’t know, but I loved you.

You were a gift from some great aunt somewhere, I think, and why a little kid would need such elaborate stationary I have no idea but I guess maybe it’s about feeling special or something. And kids love things with their name or initial on it, or so the wisdom goes. I think I used one sheet to write a thank you note to the sender, and then I think the rest was too nice to use.

Which is a funny thing. Why are things too nice to use? What’s the point?

I’m guessing I used you eventually though. I hope it was for some amazing letters.

Sincerely,

-e.

To My Grandmother’s Old Car,

I remember we were driving down the highway: you, me and my Grandma. You smelled like cigarette smoke and pine tree air freshener. I was in the front passenger seat and my hand must have strayed to the latch that would release your big, heavy door. And my Grandma casually started to tell a story.

“You know, once in the car your uncle tried the door handle and opened the door while we were driving.”

I looked at her with wide eyes.

“The door opened.”

Blacktop streamed past us on either side.

“And we were driving, and I couldn’t stop, so to keep him from falling out I–” her hand darted out and slapped down on my forearm, holding fast. How did I never notice how talon-like her fingers were? She glanced over and smiled at me. “So don’t open the door by accident, OK?”

Funny thing is, she surprised the crap out of me in that moment, and I got a sense of how freaking fierce that woman was, but she wasn’t trying to make me afraid of her, and I knew that, even as a tiny kid.

But I legit should have been in a carseat. You know that, right?

-e.

Dear Doll I Named After Myself and Carried Everywhere When I Was Two Years Old,

Sorry I always carried you by your hair. I don’t know why I did that.

Love you,

-e.

Dear Cinnamon Graham Crackers in the Break Room at the Law Firm I Worked at in High School,

Sorry I ate so many of you. I don’t know who bought you. But I was a teenager, and I was always hungry.

I’m guessing all the adults knew who was eating all the crackers. Ah, well.

-e.

Dear Fire Hydrant Near My Childhood House,

Why was it such a thing to jump over you for that intense couple of months back in ’87 or so? Remember when the whole group of us neighborhood kids would gather around and challenge each other to vault over you? Do you know why? Is that a common thing? Is that something you see regularly?

And finally: are you even that tall? I remember being terrified of the leap.

-e.