epistles

My room is thirty years of junk. So that I can live there without feeling seventeen, and so that S might not be horrified at my unroommateable clutter when she arrives, I must tidy my space.

I started with my drawer of correspondences. Seems like I have saved everything written to me since at least 1993. Very rarely do I look at them. The closest analogy I can find for the feeling they give me is that it is the same one I feel when browsing in rural health food stores, you know, community postings for cleansing retreats and hand-knit custom clothing, fruit flies in the pesticide-free kitchen, haze of sky light through flax dust making it hard to see.

Whatever. Sometimes it's nice to revisit. Here are some of the things I have found:

From O, 1997. She had covered the entire envelope with yellow highlighter ink. "Ain't highlighter pens cool? Love the color!" was written on the flap. The return address was "The Great One."

From M, 1999. General delivery from Block Island. The postcard was of a lighthouse; the caption explained, "The Southeast Lighthouse is a perpetual reminder of the dozens of shipwrecks over the decades." She added a sarcastic note to this: "Hmm...do stoplights remind you of car accidents?"

From R, 2008. A four-page roadmap of the evolution of our friendship during law school. Line drawings of India and China, touching at the borders, representing us.

A flyer from Seals' Cove Bar and Grill. The music calendar from August 1998. On August 13, 1998, my band, Sketch, followed by "Soul Debt." The next day: Mojo Madness, The Heavy Petting Zoo CD release party. The next week: Soul Detour, Drool. The band names of the late nineties.

From KC, 1998. A sad note on a bad day. "Last week as I was driving home from Campanile, actually two nights, I imagined myself crashing . . . I don't know why, I just wanted to see how it felt."

From O, 1997. An envelope upon which she drew the Oasis box logo 59 times.

From OMC, 1998. An abstract oil painting on canvas with the words, "Happy 18th Year of Life."

From A, 2000, writing from a nature reserve in East Madagascar. The stamps celebrated some landmark of Madagsacar's family planning agencies. A related note ("Yay, family planning!") closes the postcard.

One envelope with a strange cancellation stamp. An image of a carousel horse, and "For the ride of a lifetime, collect stamps." The envelope has no return address and the letter inside has no name, only "I would never have remembered to give this to you in person. I hope the postal system is trustworthy." Whatever was enclosed is gone now.

From KF, 1998. A Valentine's day note backgrounded by abstract blue Adobe Illustrator shapes. Right around the time when she was learning graphic design in the late nineties, David Carson style. She wrote a self-conscious, sardonic note about love, and then quoted two paragraphs of e.e. cummings on Krazy Kat.

West coast zines from 1992-1999. Ben is Dead, Fibre, names I can't remember. Publications that shaped my interests for the decade.

From MB, 1999. I had to peel the letter apart to look at it; there was decade-old electrical tape keeping the folded halves together.

From KF, 1997. Letter from the last week of her senior year: "I'm going to ask you a really large favor. Can you live in limbo for two more weeks?" She wanted to finish up the year before turning her attention to the relationship I wanted to have with her. In retrospect, her request was very practical; it shows emotional clarity. In retrospect, I had no idea what was happening, and thought it all very poetic.

From D, 1998. The flap reads, "OPEN IT," then, half an inch below that, "GRUNT."

From Kristen Johnson, 1997. Mysterious correspondence from Deerpath, MN. Apparently I had read something she had written about a music composition machine and wrote to her about it. It started a penpalship. Her letter was filled with easy typos, but she had a lot to say about how she thought we must be alike.

A letter from James Franco's mother inviting me to submit something for publication in an anthology of young womens' writing.

From J, 1996. A note reminding me of what I had said while drawing graphs during precalculus: "Never forget the stinkin' arrows." She had drawn arrows capping every stroke of every letter in that sentence.

A 1999 letter from a Harvard varsity women's water polo player. She wrote only in verse, or, actually, regular sentences with irregular enjambments.

Notes from Truth or Consequences, NM; Amsterdam; Deerpath, MN; Chandler, AZ; "Bionic Freak #6"; Irvine, CA; Edinburgh; Paris; Haifa; Antananarivo; "Ansel Adams Wilderness / Third Lake to the Left / & Over the Mountain"; Oaxaca; Ashland, OR; "A Pathetic Artist"; "Somewhere in Yosemite"; but more frequently from Loma Verde Court, St. Francis Drive, Edgewood Road, Byron Street, Melville Avenue.

From R, 1995. An 18" blue scroll for my birthday.

From SH, 2007. A postcard from Chicago, not so long ago. "A lovely image of our future home." Tiny, neat handwriting, plus two drawings of her face, one embarrassed, one depicting her hair "feminized" for professionalism. "Guess the MLA vibe is joykill in general."

A lesson from the end of 2009. If you write me a letter, I will save it, and I will love you forever.