I overheard this conversation, or this monologue rather, in a cafe the other day. It was like listening to a character from a bad movie, so I wrote it down, mostly because I had no idea what else I could do about it. There was much more of it, much more than I could tolerate at the time, and much more than any of my readers would be able to tolerate now, but here is a sample of the kind of thing that frightens me most in the world.
Well, my son went to one of those little islands, you know, Fiji I think, or something. And I tried to find it on a globe, so I could see where he was every day, but there’s just so much water, so much, and the islands are all so small, and there’s so many of them. And the names are small too, on the globe I mean. I couldn’t even find the right one, but I picked one anyway, because they’re all pretty much the same to me, you know what I mean? But my son doesn’t write for weeks and weeks. He just sends this little email that he got there safe and everything, and then I don’t hear from him in forever. And its not like him, you know, not to write his momma, so I’m a little bit worried, but then he sends me a long email about how primitive, just primitive, everything is there, and how he can’t find wifi or anything, and how he finally found this internet cafe or something, but the speed is really slow, so he can’t write as much as he’d like. That’s why he doesn’t write me as much, but he still writes when he can, because he loves his momma.