This is one of the 26 I'm working on for the book project. I'm curious to see what people think.
Open Letters to Closed Caskets (not sure if the name will stick)
Andrew Kaspereen
Aftertaste- n 1. A taste persisting in the mouth after the substance causing it is no longer present. 2. A feeling that remains after an event or experience.
Dear Sarah,
Once again, it is with my utmost sincerity that I apologize for the events that occurred last weekend. Assuming your internet screen name, “labradeuterominy” was somehow an indicator of instances you might enjoy was incredibly foolish. It was this line of foolishness, my very desire for you to see me as a caring man, which lead me to take you to see that rendition of the musical Godspell performed by puppy and voice actors. I must admit, although it was perplexing in nature, the men who trained said puppies to do hold still and perform minor choreography deserve at least casual commendation.
My face burns red with shame when I realize that your cursed screen name is actually a bastardized version of “laboratory” and the book of” Deuterominy” from the bible. I had no idea that you created it to make a humorous juxtaposition between science and religion. Had I been aware of this exceptionally clever display of wit on your part, I would have instead taken you to see the local community rendition of the play about the Scopes-Monkey trial “Inherit the Wind”. Sadly, it seems that the only thing I have inherited, to borrow the play’s wording for a moment, is loneliness and your scorn, for how could I think any different when you politely told me that I was “unsettling”. In your defense, I can understand where psychedelic puppy musicals may contribute to such feelings. I do, however; implore you on the proverbial bended knee. Give me another chance.
Regards,
Winston
Dear Roberta,
I discovered that mice have a fear of heights today. This discovery involved three key elements:
1. Mice
2. Height
3. A pricey and altogether gruff expert in the field of reading the emotions of mice. His name was Allan. He was surprisingly not much of a people person.
This discovery will revolutionize the area of science regarding the emotions mice, which up until this moment has been overlooked and incredibly small unless Big Tobacco needs to prove that cigarettes can help trees grow through the power of the mouse lung.
I will be moving back to Denver soon. I know it is colder there, but I feel as if I am missing something again. I know that I left Denver for the same reason, but now I am missing something and homesick. This mélange of feelings is just too much for me. I will write soon.
Cheers,
Sarah
P.S. That man you set me up with, Winston, was unsettling. I think he may have a mild case of Aspergers.
Dear Ethan,
Sarah moved back West this week. I believe our warm city had thawed her heart and exposed her feelings like a man taking a warm shower who is ambushed by a large bear in search of salmon.
Our city is a good place. The crime has reduced dramatically in our lifetime. The streets have begun to clean themselves while humming songs made popular in our youth. Don Henley would be proud.
The other day I heard two men talking.
“I’m tellin’ you, Earl.”
“What are you telling me?” asked the man I assumed to be named Earl.
“I’m just tellin’ you!”
It was refreshing to see this moment. Too often, we find ourselves caught in the rigors of city life. We are always in motion. We ride our Segways down one-way streets and are constantly finding new and faster routes to avoid traffic in order to shave seconds off our time moving from one place to another. We no longer stop and tell people things without actually saying anything. I suppose it is something of a lost art.
Perhaps, when night starts to shed its cloak earlier, we will enjoy the break of day between each other’s arms again. I have missed your knowing embrace and the jagged edges of your elbows as they seek an appropriate resting place in the throes of our embrace. At times, I cry about this; other times I just sigh. Today I chose to write you this letter. The sentiment is now public domain.
Lovingly,
Roberta
Dear Rudiger,
I feel as though I have failed your teachings. As my master, you taught me that strength in body, mind, and bank account were tools of success and the means to conquering our target: one of the Dakotas. As a pupil, I am still hesitant, but I must question the logic of capturing either of these states? To what end is there any profit related to Dakota? Please, provide your guidance and insight in my hour of doubt.
In the time I left your tutelage, in what I regard as a time of self-discovery, I met a companion of sorts. Despite your warning that the desires of the flesh led to complications of self worth and bank account, I invited her, with a friendly card requiring her to RSVP, into my confidence. I was cautious.
In truth, this was a maneuver that caused great inner turmoil in my heart. On one hand, I was a proud man, like the bear who has stored food in the walk-in refrigerator in preparation for the winter. At moments of intimacy, however; I felt as if I were the sexually confused seagull in search of a less phallic perch to observe garbage from for fear of what the other less open-minded seagulls might say.
She, who is called Roberta, completes and confuses me master. I am a whirling mess of extended metaphor and impulse snacking. Perhaps you, in your kind and almost mastered pacing of all that is life, can illuminate the path to passive acceptance.
Your humble student,
Ethan
Dear God,
To what end is my purpose? I have been penitent and reflective, but I still require your guidance. I have trained others, inspired them to help me in my quest to do your bidding and realize the purpose of humanity. I still recall vividly the dream in which you met me, face to shrouded face on top of the body of an antelope. “Dakota,” you said.
“Why Dakota?” I asked.
You were already running and the firearms of the dream world were sounding. I woke up with purpose.
It is on this evening that North Dakota will be mine. The steps involved in my plan are all but complete.
1. Go to North Dakota.
2. Knock on Governor’s Door
3. Firmly, but politely, inform the governor that I am now in charge.
4. Conduct in impromptu celebration with dancing and merriment.
I recall the vision, but the ending, with you being pounced on by hunters in orange suits, confuses me. What am I to do with this land? Surely there is a purpose on your mind? Am I to be the light of the Midwest, brightly reflecting to all corners of the prairie? Am I to be the change, to borrow a phrase from your servant Henry Thoreau, that I, and by default, you wish to see? Am I to build a casino filled with false idols as a haven for those who are your detractors? I realize that I am just the darkened curve in the sketchbook you continually shape our lives with, the banana chunk in the otherwise banana-free fruit salad, the piece of the proverbial puzzle; but at times I require to be taken and smashed into a spot I do not fit properly. I await a vision.
In your name,
Rudiger
Dear Humanity,
I’m going to be frank, you disappoint me. I’d send meteors and plagues of locus to eliminate you like I did the dinosaurs, but even that seems too strong a course of action against such minor agitations. Even if it wasn’t, what would be the purpose, it would simply invite you to my home, where you would play with my expensive valuables and ask questions about purposes in life. I would send you to hell, but Satan is booked solid. He tried to warn me to slow down sending all the sinners there, something about maximum occupancy regulations, but I had to be the righteous one. Young upstart. The contractors who built his gated-furnace community did excellent work there too; must have been Norwegian architects. Truthfully, not much inspires me lately. It might be the weather up here. Tomorrow, I will turn off your electricity and, like a perturbed landlord, tell you that things are going to have to change. You were to be my greatest achievement, the crowning jewel of what was by far the most impressive project anyone had undertaken in the universe, the fact that I was the first in the universe notwithstanding.
Achievements, however, shine less bright each day. Everything has begun to blur together and is just so, well, typical.
H.A.G.S.
God
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