Valerie Fox

 Portmanteau

      1

No one talked on the long ride. I ducked into a small room to fix my undergarments, which felt like they were on backwards.

Out on the street, I was waiting at the corner for the brash gentleman and his shabby books.

I chose one that turned out to be written by someone named Chesterton or Portmanteau. There was an arrangement for us regarding these books.

I thought because of the extreme degrading of the book’s spine that I might try to change the order of the pages to make the book whole.

In the background there was also something bad and disturbing (I could smell it). Venison?

In a previous time, I had turned 13. That was the year of Apollo-Soyuz.

I walked back to my room with my book, melting.

      2

There was something bad and disturbing going on, maybe having to do with a meat, such as venison. I was talking with the others at the corner as we waited for the man with his books.

We talked about space and voyages to space and test missions, and those planning to take oldest and youngest people out there, to space.

The corner was a boundary, half-hidden. The man arrived. As agreed, we could each take one book. The book by someone named Chesterton or Portmanteau called out to me.

No one had talked on the long ride. I ducked into a small room to fix my undergarments, which felt like they were on backwards. I was thinking non-stop about what I could do to put the book back into an order, to make it whole.

I walked back to my room with my book, which was already melting.

      3

No one talked. We passed what used to be countryside. Now it’s dotted with businesses, low-rise apartment complexes, billboards. Soldiers stood at the entrance of an airbase. Sometimes clouds gave an illusion of distant mountains.

Inside my falling-apart book by Chesterton or Portmanteau, I found scraps of paper. One was a lawyer’s business card, another a coupon (25% off) for ties. On the backs of these were names and numbers for people with lonely hearts.
 

      4  

In a previous time, I had turned 13, the year of Apollo-Soyuz. I looked like a boy and sometimes people referred to me as “this little boy.”

I ducked into a small room to fix my undergarments, which fitted too tight, like they were on backwards.

There was something disturbing about the overall smell here. As kids, we were fed cured, peppery deer meat, and once it made me sick.

Along with several others, I was waiting for the gray-haired gentleman to arrive with his books. We all got to choose one to adopt and nurse back to health.

Later, one of the others who had also waited at the usual corner was heading in the same direction as I was. Walking, no words. I had the vivid impression that we had met years ago. Maybe in 1975, back when I was thirteen.

In those days, time inched by, or so it seemed. The Earth itself seemed to stand still, like those pictures from space.

Catechism

9/15/19xx

Dear Morgana,
I spent August scanning the skyline for birds for signs of you. Or lying under the tall trees, looking up at the cart-wheeling arms. Trying to rewire my brain, I guess. Oh, and 9th grade all I do is stay minimal. Mom spends her days (and nights?) gazing out the kitchen window with her binoculars. Uncle Teddy takes me to the drive-in for vampires, all that blood! Found your original packing list and Meanings of Dreams under your bed, and your good guitar. How is school? What will you do once you know all about statistics and everything?

XO,

Em
p.s. please tell me more about [unintelligible]

*

[unsent]

Dear Em,

Sorry to hear about all that blood. I miss you and playing the theremin. Seems like every fact and number I memorize replaces something else in my head that I used to know or almost knew. Am starting to forget the crap farm. You may safe-keep my dreams. If you’re reading this, I think you’re okay. Here’s a question for the new religion: When did the world begin? When does my life begin? With me, there must be more than one world. And one always starts with the same sun and moon (that you’re under too).

I’m in the orange stucco house, for now, not the boathouse. Write me there.

XO,
Morgana

*

10/15

Dear Morgana,
Hope you are at that same boathouse. October has been more of the same (like September) or more dangerous. The fam questions my abilities and vocabulary. We have so many plastics in our bodies, nowadays. Drink plenty of water, keep up with the books. I’ve almost gotten rid of Uncle Teddy on his bad days. Last night he was shuffling around with the dog (Caesar, not Boots) fading into the wallpaper, mocking his fate. My ribs ache from laughing but I never complain, just like dear old dad, and I’m saving up money for the next phase of my life, purple or orange or pink or whatever.
Fingers crossed,

XO,
Em
p.s. When does the world start to fade?