I dream of doing something I've always wanted to do, but in the morning I can't remember what it was. I wake to find Cathreen's face beside me. Usually she tutors at this time. She says I need to do her lesson for her--she's too dizzy.
I nod that I will and then roll over in bed.
"You need to go now," she says. "It's time issue."
I've obligated myself to do this for her, by causing her pain. "Okay," I say, "I'll go. Just don't bother me. I can wake up on my own."
She doesn't seem to believe me. I'm only a few minutes late.
I teach her student about the growth of San Francisco, a subject I don't expect him to be interested in. He says he wants to go there and find gold. "There's no more left," I tell him. "They've found it all."
Now I'm at her sister's house. She asks what I wrote yesterday. When I read it to her, she says I'm making her look bad. "I'm not," I say. "I'm making myself look bad." She says what I've written is strange.
She voices a few complaints. "Where's the part about how I'm hero?" she asks. What she means is we've been watching this tv series about people who develop superpowers--she says hers is knowing the future, how she's been buying wide-sleeved, loose-fitting clothes for years and now they're easy to fit on and off around her cast.
I write what she asks.
A couple people from home have had the chance to read this by now, and one asks how much of Cathreen's hair burned. A lot or just a little singing, he asks, as in from the verb "to singe," not "to sing."
I sit by my nephew and write. Cathreen's sister had a baby five months ago, an active thing with a big voice who thinks he has two mothers.
"Hello," I say. He starts to cry. He doesn't remember me.
When Cathreen tells her sister what I'm writing, they say it's "evidence."
the project has moved
Read more at matthewsalesses.com
Read the Essays from the Beginning
- ▼ 08 (15)