Chapter 26
From the downtown library because it has air-conditioning
8/29/92
Dear Frida,
This letter is coming to you from the library because the heat wave won’t break. I also wanted to check out recent copies of Current . I read two more of Niko’s articles. I try to picture you in Sarajevo, but for some reason my imagination can’t go there, which is weird because I can totally (old habits die hard) imagine you in Paris eating goat cheese. I know it hasn’t even been two weeks since I heard from you. I just wish I could know you’re safe.
It’s my day off, and I’ve been here for most of it staying cool. It’s a nice place to hide out, balance my checkbook, cruise the card catalog, things like that. It was built in a style called midcentury modern (I’m sure Kirby knows all about it). Some of the walls are these artsy dividers with abstract paintings on them, and there are open spaces filled with stylish chairs and couches. I’m curled up on a black leather one that looks like it’s out of a 1960s movie about New York.
I know you won’t get my letters until you’re back in Paris, and you won’t have time to write to me while you’re in Sarajevo. I hope it’s okay if I keep writing to you. Something strange unsettling happened, and my brain is in full jitter mode. I’d talk to Sven about it, but sometimes I get tired because he always wants to dissect the deep meaning of things, and I’d call Franny, but I don’t want her to worry about me. Don’t feel like you have to respond when you eventually read this since you’ll have so much on your mind. I just know it will help me sort out my head if I can write it all down to you.
Bumpa finally found a car for me, and Mom came up for the day to drive me over to his place to pick it up. We ended up playing cards so late we stayed the night, and totally spur of the moment, we decided to break in my Chevette with a drive to Toppenish where Bumpa is from. The three of us headed out super early the next morning to get across the pass in time for the maple bars to still be warm at the Cle Elum Bakery. Back when we lived in Eastern Washington, Bumpa would pick up a whole box of them on his way to visit us. They always taste as good as I remember. Sweet with the right hint of salty. We had coffee, too. Talk about a sugar-caffeine buzz. When we got on the road again, the heat picked up. It got hotter and drier the farther inland we drove. $300 doesn’t include working air-con so by the time we hit Yakima we had all the windows rolled down. Have I ever told you how pretty my mom is? She has high cheekbones like Bumpa, and I could see the profile of her cute ski jump nose in the side mirror when she stuck her head out the window to smell the sagebrush.
We’ve never road-tripped just the three of us before. It was fun driving while Mom and Bumpa told old stories. Remember her uncle’s ranch where she spent her summers when Bumpa worked on the Brown Bear? It’s near Toppenish, and when we reached the turnoff they used to take toward Fort Simcoe, she remembered the time Bumpa let her drive his red-and-white swept-wing Dodge out to the ranch when she was only twelve. And how cool it was she got invited to ride her horse in the all-Indian rodeo parade. I couldn’t write anything down because I was driving, but I paid close attention just in case any of it belongs in the novel.
You’re probably trying to figure out what’s so unsettling about this. I’m getting there. I promise. We started off at the house Bumpa grew up in. It’s a yellowish box now, but he says it used to be pure white with French windows and a big sun porch. Then we wandered up the Old West–looking main street to this farm stand. Mom was talking about the cottonwood tree outside her bedroom on the ranch, how peaceful it sounded when the breeze rustled in the leaves , . when I felt like when it was like I suddenly Have you ever heard of an out-of-body experience, Frida? I’m not sure what one is exactly, but I think I had one. I was literally outside my body watching us.
We were sitting on a bench eating peaches warm from the sun. Mom was talking, and Bumpa was smiling in his quiet way. It was like they were connected. Like there was a warm light surrounding them, and I was outside the light. All of a sudden my thoughts sprayed in different directions like fireworks, and Sven’s voice, or maybe it was Socrates, was right in the center telling me how an unexamined life isn’t worth living, and how come Mom never talks about how hard it was to have divorced parents in the age of Beaver Cleaver, and why didn’t Bumpa think about what it felt like to be a single dad back then? It makes sense what you said about Phil Donahue, but it can’t be true, can it, I mean about examining life? Just because they don’t I don’t get how it’s so easy for them to be themselves. To just be who they are and not, but for me
What’s wrong with me? It was a perfect summer day. My fingers were sticky with peach juice, the air was spicy with sagebrush, and Mom was telling the same old family stories. I love our same old stories. Why were they making me feel so melancholy? I physically ached like I was losing something precious. We’ve always fit together, but I’m changing, Frida. What if I change and I’m so different from I felt so far away from them. It’s like I’m stuck inside a tight container and I can’t get out but I don’t want to get out and I’m fighting to stay in and get out all at the same time. I can’t breathe. I thought it would help to write this, but I’m having an anxiety attack right here in the library. How is it possible no one’s noticing? There’s a lady in the chair across from me looking at an atlas like nothing’s wrong. Another lady is chipping gum out of an ashtray. It’s like my brain is being dismantled and I have no idea how to put the pieces back together. I need cold water. I need to find the water fountain. I really miss you.
Please stay safe,
Kate