-- William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties
Cronin was asking about Xserves and video cards earlier, so I went digging through my closet looking for the Mac Radeon I used in DCI's a couple years ago. While looking for the box of PCI crap, I came across my letter box. Which isn't actually a letter box at all, but the leather Celtic-style cover from a journal I bought years ago and never used.
Nothing from the long-term Lauras (long-term by comparison, I guess. Long-term for me) is in here. If there was anything worth keeping, it got thrown away somewhere along I-40 or I-85. In fact, the things in here are all from girls that were whirlwind or make me hum Counting Crow's Raining in Baltimore.
Needless to say, reading letters from ex-girlfriends (or whatever they were) is never a good idea. The first few are from Sarah. We'll... skip those.
Ry made these. She was mad into the crafts, and just dropping little notes in the mail. Smart, gorgeous, empathic... And of course from Virginia and just visiting her boyfriend (well, ex-boyfriend almost immediately after she got into town) for a week. I had never met her before. Never talked to her, I don't think. Whirlwind, random, whatever you want to call it.
Years later, I'd go to my friend Steve's wedding and meet his soon-to-be sister-in-law and that part of it was the same. Everything after, including the part where Nancy was a lying bitch and I got punched out by her "ex-boyfriend" outside a bar in Wichita, well. That was obviously a bit different.
These are pretty damn neat, though. I don't think anyone else has ever made me anything remotely similar.
Heh. This one is because the first night she was in Tempe, for some unknown reason she insisted (as I remember it) on watching some anime. All we had (?!) was Wicked City, which is essentially hentai. I think there's even some tentacle sex in it. Definitely a spider-woman with a giant toothed vagina though. I believe she deemed it "interesting."
Her letters are hard to read. Constantly telling me what I mean to her. How amazing I am. If I was, I don't remember it. I remember wondering what the hell I'd done to deserve her attention. I remember sitting in bed and bitching about Ryan's girlfriend, Tori, for at least an hour. I remember sitting on the couch in the dark. Taking her to the steakhouse in the converted firehouse. Sitting in the airport after her plane left, and how incredibly not like a movie it was, though there were plenty of tears from her (and later, a list of things she wish she had said, five or six pages long. It's in here, too).
Of course, I remember the rest of it, later, after I moved to the east coast; me fucking it all up. So perhaps I'm shading it.
But if anything any of these letters have any truth, I wonder where that guy went. I wonder why he left me his things to find, years on. I'm not him anymore, but it certainly seems like he was a better guy than I am.
And then there's this, in among the photos and little drawings and words from Sarah...
Can't read anything she wrote. My brain knows better than that, at the very least.
I need some gin.