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TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: 3/17/07
TIME: 10:15 PM
HAHA! I knew something was wrong with you. When I opened the door, you looked like I wasn’t wearing a shirt or something. You should’ve seen your eyes grow all big. Yes, I am a woman and my name is not Duane. Duane is my husband. Well, he’s deceased. He died in 9/11 at the World Trade Center. He was a computer programmer. Anyway, one of the last things he did was install the Outlook on my computer so all of my e-mail has his old address on it. I never changed it. I guess I just didn’t want to. Kind of like having a bit of him around. You know? And there’s no need to thank me. Losing a PalmPilot could happen to anyone. I’m sure people find PalmPilots along the street every morning. LOL.
Coreen
E-MAIL TRANSMISSION
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: 3/18/07
TIME: 6:57 AM
Try telling my assistants it’s normal! They say finding things I’ve misplaced should be in their job description. Thank goodness they have backups for all of the data on my PalmPilot.
I apologize for bringing up the e-mail address thing. I can understand why you would keep your husband’s address. And I’m sorry to hear he passed. I know it’s probably hard on you, even after so long. My father died of leukemia when I was seven, and my mom had it pretty bad. Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you. I do owe you one.
Thanks again!
Jamison
Not Yet Gangster
Ahusky cough came cracking through the phone as my mother attempted to clear the night before out of her throat when she picked up the phone.
After realizing that I had to get out of jail before I gave birth to my child in the big house and everyone started calling him Tupac, I decided to just call her and suffer whatever drama she would bring until I got home to my bed. So far, she was right on point with the drama part.
“Mother,” I said sternly.
“That you, Kerry?” She coughed again. “I was wondering why anyone would be calling me so early . . . wait, is it the baby? Is the—”
“No, Mother, it’s not that,” I cut her off. “I need . . . I . . .” There was no simple way to put it.
“Oh, I thought the baby was here. Did you talk to Jamison yet about the name? You know I really think the whole junior thing is not necessary, considering that our family has the—”
“Mother,” I said, but she kept right on going.
“. . . solid name. Just name him after my father. Dean is a great name. Don’t you think? My fat
her would’ve been so proud and—”
“Mother!” I yelled again. “It’s eight in the morning. Do you think I’m calling to discuss baby names?”
“What?” she said.
“I need your help.”
“Well, you don’t have to holler at me like that. Control yourself, Kerry. You know no one likes a woman with a loud mouth.”
“Okay, fine,” I said, lowering my voice to the level she agreed was desirable. “Look, I know this isn’t going to come out right, so I’m just going to say it.” I was stalling but I knew I had to get to the point. The woman waiting in line behind me looked like a cross between Big Foot and Goliath and she was staring at me like I was standing between her and a cheeseburger. It was no time to play prissy.
