everything falls apart — a serial

AUTHOR’S NOTE and EARLY CONCEPTS

TOC

[Mar 10] Drive — March 14, 1997

[Note: The following email printed to PDF was discovered in a Drive folder on Alice’s phone named “Kyle”.]

Alice Donovan <Alice.Donovan.73@[withheld].com>
Fw: Re: Funeral (fwd)
1 message

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WhiteRabbit.73 <WhiteRabbit.73@[withheld].com>
Sun, May 21, 2006 at 9:42 PM
To: Alice.Donovan.73@[withheld].com

----Original Message Follows----

From: DonovanA01@[withheld].edu
To: WhiteRabbit.73@[withheld].com
Subject: Re: Funeral (fwd)
Date: Sun, 18 May 1997 16:12:07 -0500 (CDT)

---------- Forwarded message ----------

Date: Wed, 19 Mar 1997 19:49:31 -0600 (CST)
From: GrendelTC@[withheld].com
To: DonovanA01@[withheld].edu
Subject: Re: Funeral

Al—

Sorry about the delay in responding (not about missing out on the funeral, though). Tommy was out of town on business and I didn’t want to bother his fiancee just to hear “You’ve got mail!”

Not that mail from you was a given anyway. I get it: crunch time before graduation, but I don’t want to miss a word if I can help it.

I just can’t see what the big deal is with this electronic mail thing people are talking about. At least I can keep in touch with you. Will it still work after your graduation?

I wish I could say that I felt something on hearing news of Marian’s death. Sadness, anger, joy… Something. I felt like I was reading one of those mass market books you find in the checkout at the grocery store. A whole lot of dead wood inside. Nothing.

I’m only sorry the burden of performance art in the role of dutiful daughter had to fall on your shoulders. You won that dubious honor. Though I was never given much of a chance to be a son, let alone dutiful. I won’t retread old ground and tell you how much I wish I could have taken you away from both Frank and the Witch sooner. You were right, they would have screamed kidnapping or something.

I guess now we can sing “Ding Dong” in some gold-bricked village square at the top of our lungs. Finally.

I’m surprised you didn’t tell Frank to shove the funeral where the sun doesn’t shine. You had a good excuse with the blizzard that rolled in last week. I mean, twelve inches of snow isn’t something you just blow off for a drive that takes 45 min in GOOD weather. I would have stayed tucked away in Mesothelioma Manor. You could have even plausibly said, “Sorry, no one gave me the message!”

Do you get phone messages? Are your roommates pretty good about it in case I call? It is conceivable I might call, you know – feeding coins into the slot just to talk to my kid sister.

Guess I’m glad I don’t have a phone line. Frank was nearly as adept at wielding guilt as Marian. Maybe without her finesse, but he was certainly unafraid of using it. I like to think I am above letting something like guilt sway me, but you find out that some of the earliest training is the training that sticks best.

He would have called me just so he could bludgeon me with it after not saying a single word to me for a dozen years; to make sure that Marian got her way. You know how she liked to be the center of attention. I can imagine her last words were, “Make sure Kyle and Alice are at my funeral or I swear to God I’ll come back to haunt you, Francis Albert Donovan. They need to see just how much I’ve suffered for them and how it leeched away all of my vitality.”

She was a little melodramatic, as I’m certain you recall.

I’d say let’s get together next time you’re in town and pour a drink in her name. That would get her goat. She was still a teetotaler until the end, right? Tempting…

But the problem with taunting ghosts is that it tends to make them restless. You taunt them long enough, give them enough of your energy by way of remembrances, and they forget to move on.

The best thing, then, would be to do our best to let her go so she doesn’t linger on this plane and continue to give us grief from beyond the grave.

Wait.

I think I just argued full circle. Ah hell, a round of Jameson on me. Hell, make it the whole damn bottle. “To oblivion!” we can shout at the top of our lungs from my rooftop as we dive into bottled River Lethe from Ireland.

We can forget we ever knew Marian. And, if we do it right, we’ll never find our way back to remembering such horrors as that.

I really like those photos you mailed around Christmas. You’re finally looking like you are recovering from Marian’s “special diets” designed to boost “Alice’s delicate constitution.” The all-you-can-eat at the cafeteria is bringing out the beautiful woman inside. And short sleeves instead of those oversized sweaters even. In winter? Amazing.

I’m so fucking proud of you, Al. If I was there, I’d give you one of my world-famous Grendel hugs. In fact I’ll do it when you come by for that drink. BEFORE we drink.

Gods, I love you Alice. Just remember that.

In other news, the coven has decided that I am ready to assume the role of—

[Note: The PDF ends here.]