BIFFLES

Dear Dahlberg,

Last night, when I wanted to spoon, and you said, “There is no spoon,” I started thinking. Maybe you could do the dishes before I get home?

Thoughts?

Love you,

Blue

Dear Dahlberg

Disregard that. Was high on life just then. The words got away from me. Too much euphoria clouding the brain.

Love you,

Blue

Dear Dahlberg,

This time for real. We’re over. You can’t just send me the charred remains of my favorite pants and think that I will forgive you. Screw you. But, seriously, do the dishes.

Hate you,

Blue

Dear Dahlberg,

I’ve been getting these letters. There are hundreds of them. They’re all addressed to me, but from people I don’t know. They reference places and events I’ve never heard of and had no part in. I wrote everyone back to say they had the wrong person, but I just keep getting more. I’m worried. It’s like getting an invitation to Hogwarts if getting an invitation to Hogwarts were a bad, slightly unsettling thing. I don’t know what to do.

Really, though, we’re out of plates. And it’s been like two weeks.

Miss you,

Blue

Blue:

I don’t know who you are or how you keep getting my new addresses, but I would appreciate if you would stop contacting me. If you continue to violate my privacy, I will place a restraining order against you.

Also, it seems like you could stand to watch fewer movies.

Thank you in advance,

D. Bailey Anderson

Dear Dahlberg,

I guess I should be the one to take out the trash, then. Also, Harry Potter is a book series.

Blue

Blue:

I know, I meant The Matrix.

D.B. Anderson

D.B.,

Oh my God! You like The Matrix? I LOVE The Matrix! Wanna hang out sometime?

Blue

The two of them stood on the roof of the building.

“Hey Ramona maybe you should just step inside for the next five or so minutes or hours or whenever the sun stops doing that because I don’t like all the colors around it.”

“What? No. This is like the 4th of July of the millennium, Jeff. Scientifically and astronomically and universally, this a magnificent beautiful sexy spectacle that trillions of other people will never get to see, and I am totally not going to stop taking pictures. Please go away, or if not then come over here and don’t say anything annoying. Your children will thank you.”

Jeff began taking tiny, rigid steps toward Ramona and the bottom of his pants leg coaxed a slender root of urine from the puddle he was now leaving behind. “Maybe the radiation is making me infertile.”

She turned to look at him. “Oh, you’re making a trail. Stop walking now. You can just stay there.”

Jeff stopped. He put his hands on the sides of his face and frowned and frowned and frowned.

Ramona was looking straight up at the stuff in the sky, alternately gaping at it and bringing her camera up to her face and clicking off photos. “Jeff I’ma be straight with you,” she said without turning to look at him. “You are actually unfortunately very correct in thinking that there are unhealthy consequences to us being out here but really, I don’t know what else to do. Everything inside is boring and I am just ignorant enough of everything bad that could happen to us here that I don’t care. Also the idea of us staying indoors wondering what the sky looks like is pissing me off. But we’ve been enjoying the view for a while now so I guess you can leave if you really want to, but probably you should stay.”

“Ok.” Jeff’s urine trail formed a J and then a U as he turned around to descend the ladder and go back inside the apartment.

And this needle, it’s gotta be more than three inches long. They tell you it will only hurt a little — “sting,” they say — and then they jam it into your spine. It’s supposed to be over in an instant, a prick you shouldn’t remember, but even in comparison with what happened next, I remember. Because it was in those three inches that I lost everything, so yeah, of course I remember. I can relive it moment for moment in my mind, the way it felt when the point broke my skin, when it pushed back tissues, when liquid finally spurted out in a bright fire, the way everything went numb after that, the way I couldn’t feel my legs.

Some people I’ve heard say it was the best moment of their lives — the moment their legs went numb. It’s not like the pain I felt was all pillows and sunshine that I wanted to hold onto it so bad. Naw — it was, I can’t give you a word because when you’re in that kind of pain you don’t think in words like “agony” or “suffering.” You think in breaths and nausea. You count the breaths that mean you’re alive, and you try not to shake too hard or you’ll vomit. It wasn’t even about my legs at that point — it was just about breathing and not throwing up.

One time, I heard a new mother tell me she knew how I felt. She remembered having an epidural when she had her baby. I couldn’t even talk, I was so mad. Did you wake up without the lower half of your body, I wanted to scream at her, but even to me the words sounded ridiculous. But she got a baby and what did I get?

So, yeah, I think I’ll remember that needle, the sting. That pinch was the last great moment of my life, maybe like the words a man says to God before he blows his brains out, I don’t know, I’m not there yet, but I’ll write you a postcard and let you know how it ends.

oh good