me,
but I don’t feel the warmth of recognition.
Between these two groups of photographs intervenes, I estimate, a gap of some seven or eight years. I retain only the meagerest handful of recollections from that epoch, and now, with all the snapshots laid out on the floor, I have discovered
there are no photographs either!
Why, during all this long interval, so important in the life of a child, did no one bother to take my picture? There are innumerable shots of Peg from the same period: Peg at the beach, Peg on her pony. By all rights I should be there with her in some of them. In fact, in a number of the pictures she appears to be standing at the side of the frame, as if she were leaving room for me. It’s as though I had vanished, a cute kid, or at any rate, a normal one, who disappears for a long while, only to reappear as a grossly unattractive, larger individual. I would write Peg about this except I know she would never answer.
It was only tonight, while I was lying in bed not able to sleep, that it dawned upon me that not only are so many of my memories
like
snapshots, in their isolation and immobility, they are
of
snapshots, of these
same
snapshots, which as an adult I must have seen numerous times at Mama’s house, every Christmas in fact. Apart from them, I have next to nothing.
Your card arrived this afternoon. I had hoped you would be more understanding about the money. Two months is not going to cut it, though it will help. It’s just possible, assuming I can rent this place and two others that are vacant, that I will be in a position to send you something more next month. But the fact is they are in terrible shape and I don’t have the money to fix them. I know New York is expensive, but no one asked you to move there. As for me, I drive all the way across town to the new Safeway, robbing valuable hours from other things, just to save a few pennies. You might, as you hop into your next taxi to Manhattan, think of that.
Love,
Andrew
¶
potatoes (lots)
cans (chili, soups, Big John’s Beans)
liverwurst
marg
hocks
puffs
cupcakes
maybe steak or meat
p. chop
shoe polish
tuna
sardines
cheese snack
froz fries—coupons
lunch stuff
bread
cereal
t.p. (lots)
miracle whip
lightbulbs
money order
½" shut-off valve
vodka
earplugs
¶
Dear Harold,
Of course I remember you. I think it interesting that you have gone into agriculture. I myself feel very close to the land even when I am exiled in the city, as I must be, because of its advantages to someone who must always be before the public, in its eye, as they say, or up its ass, as I sometimes am. As for machinery, etc., I couldn’t judge. So you
did
marry Catherine in the end. How we did vie for her! May the best man win, as they say, and I am sure he did. Jolie and I separated two years ago. I have kept the house, a Victorian box much too large for me, which I am finding impossible to keep remotely tidy. I spend several hours cleaning, and a few days later it’s back where it was. It’s quite a lonely house sometimes and I’ve thought of getting a dog, but I’m afraid of getting a biter. I have an office in the house, where I do my writing and editing, so I don’t have to go out very often. I imagine one of the great things about living in the country is not having neighbors. Of course if you are in this area you must stop by, though I don’t think I could “tie one on” with you. I have some small health problems. Nothing serious but I have to be a wee bit careful. And the people in the bars have grown so terribly young. I imagine that you, working outside in all kinds of weather, are just bursting with good health, and you probably look younger than you are. I have a funny noise in my chest sometimes. We make choices so early, and on the basis of practically no information, and then we end up with these different lives that we are really stuck with. It’s all so depressing. We get ourselves boxed in and then there seems no
but I don’t feel the warmth of recognition.
Between these two groups of photographs intervenes, I estimate, a gap of some seven or eight years. I retain only the meagerest handful of recollections from that epoch, and now, with all the snapshots laid out on the floor, I have discovered
there are no photographs either!
Why, during all this long interval, so important in the life of a child, did no one bother to take my picture? There are innumerable shots of Peg from the same period: Peg at the beach, Peg on her pony. By all rights I should be there with her in some of them. In fact, in a number of the pictures she appears to be standing at the side of the frame, as if she were leaving room for me. It’s as though I had vanished, a cute kid, or at any rate, a normal one, who disappears for a long while, only to reappear as a grossly unattractive, larger individual. I would write Peg about this except I know she would never answer.
It was only tonight, while I was lying in bed not able to sleep, that it dawned upon me that not only are so many of my memories
like
snapshots, in their isolation and immobility, they are
of
snapshots, of these
same
snapshots, which as an adult I must have seen numerous times at Mama’s house, every Christmas in fact. Apart from them, I have next to nothing.
Your card arrived this afternoon. I had hoped you would be more understanding about the money. Two months is not going to cut it, though it will help. It’s just possible, assuming I can rent this place and two others that are vacant, that I will be in a position to send you something more next month. But the fact is they are in terrible shape and I don’t have the money to fix them. I know New York is expensive, but no one asked you to move there. As for me, I drive all the way across town to the new Safeway, robbing valuable hours from other things, just to save a few pennies. You might, as you hop into your next taxi to Manhattan, think of that.
Love,
Andrew
¶
potatoes (lots)
cans (chili, soups, Big John’s Beans)
liverwurst
marg
hocks
puffs
cupcakes
maybe steak or meat
p. chop
shoe polish
tuna
sardines
cheese snack
froz fries—coupons
lunch stuff
bread
cereal
t.p. (lots)
miracle whip
lightbulbs
money order
½" shut-off valve
vodka
earplugs
¶
Dear Harold,
Of course I remember you. I think it interesting that you have gone into agriculture. I myself feel very close to the land even when I am exiled in the city, as I must be, because of its advantages to someone who must always be before the public, in its eye, as they say, or up its ass, as I sometimes am. As for machinery, etc., I couldn’t judge. So you
did
marry Catherine in the end. How we did vie for her! May the best man win, as they say, and I am sure he did. Jolie and I separated two years ago. I have kept the house, a Victorian box much too large for me, which I am finding impossible to keep remotely tidy. I spend several hours cleaning, and a few days later it’s back where it was. It’s quite a lonely house sometimes and I’ve thought of getting a dog, but I’m afraid of getting a biter. I have an office in the house, where I do my writing and editing, so I don’t have to go out very often. I imagine one of the great things about living in the country is not having neighbors. Of course if you are in this area you must stop by, though I don’t think I could “tie one on” with you. I have some small health problems. Nothing serious but I have to be a wee bit careful. And the people in the bars have grown so terribly young. I imagine that you, working outside in all kinds of weather, are just bursting with good health, and you probably look younger than you are. I have a funny noise in my chest sometimes. We make choices so early, and on the basis of practically no information, and then we end up with these different lives that we are really stuck with. It’s all so depressing. We get ourselves boxed in and then there seems no
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