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2020 A.D. Kevin Sharp You are 38 years old. You sit atop your yacht-sized hotel bed with its marshmallow pillows and 1,000,000 thread count sheets. Raindrops slap the window like nickels, the only sound that reaches you through the bomb bunker walls. You have come home to attend your twenty-year high school reunion. If you were to die here, tonight, an investigative team – glamorous, multicultural, of the sort found on TV – sweeping your apartment back East would find the following, and use these items to piece together a life: 1. A photograph of you smiling atop a new Honda motorcycle. 2. An unsharpened pencil with the logo for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? * 3. A short story entitled “Masquerade.” Your author’s credit is followed by “4th Period.”
*The parting gift for failing the audition process. The answer was: Tungsten.
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“Things Found Inside Women’s Bodies: Bowl“ by Salma Ahmad Caller.
Watercolour, collage, graphite, Indian Ink, gesso, gold pigment. dust, 54.5cm x 19cm
2018
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a. The opening lines:
“Once upon a time, in a faraway land, lived a princess. She was beautiful and smart and didn’t suffer fools easily. She was also fond of wearing plaid pants beneath her royal gown.” |
You are 18 years old. In Megan’s bedroom, listening to The Jesus and Mary Chain. The ice has made your earlobe numb. She lies on her back beneath the artificial stars on the ceiling. The lamp, sheathed in red silk, highlights downy hair on her arms. You realize in hindsight that this is the type of memory one might refer back to when asked to name “A time you were truly happy.” In later retellings (to yourself primarily) you make yourself truly happy by lessening your soon-to-be sizzling agony, and the fact that your left foot is asleep, the circulation cut off by Megan’s resting head. This will sometimes seem like the last moment you were sure of anything.
4. Your last high school yearbook. Inside the front and back covers are various messages.
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a. On one page:
“Hey You! Thanks for introducing me to L&R**. You’re a great writer and I hope you never give it up. Remember you’re a man now and those colledge [sic] girls better watch out. You have to give me a mailing address when you sign my yearbook so I’ll be able to write you a REAL LETTER from Down Under. Love, Moi (aka Meg).” |
**Love & Rockets
When she dashed off those pink words at the school snack bar, her fingertips stained Cheeto orange, she could not have known the number of times you would return to that page. It’s possible Woodward and Bernstein paid less attention to the Watergate affair than you dedicated to her message.
You are 37 years old. On your leather couch with a goddess. She is way out of your league but neither of you cares. Your mouth is sticky with beer – this you do care about. The mole at the end of her eyebrow makes her an exclamation point. Her eyes are closed. You keep yours open to make sure this is real.
5. A copy of The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood.
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a. Written inside the front cover:
“Promise it’s not too ‘rah-rah feminist.’” b. Inserted between pages 117 and 118 is a photograph of a topless woman holding a hand up to block her face from the camera. |
6. A bachelor’s degree from a mid-level university.
7. A Planned Parenthood sexually transmitted disease testing form, results negative.
7. A Planned Parenthood sexually transmitted disease testing form, results negative.
You are 22 years old. You finally say, “I love you,” and instantly want the words back, while the cement is still wet.
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October 29, 2007 To: [email protected] Subject: Hi Dear Megan, It’s the ghost of high school past. I saw you registered on the alumni page & about fell out of my chair (recalling your comments about things you’d rather eat than have contact with our classmates again). Well… I’m not sure what to say. Guess I have writer’s block (even though I never became a writer, haha). Hope you’re doing well. Love, C |
8. A pair of crutches with various curse words scribbled on them in Sharpie.
You are 26 years old. In a bar with Xochitl. Soft jazz, $12 well drinks. Her wedding ring like the gaudy costume jewelry of high school plays. Back then (before Megan), you wanted her, would have given your left leg to be with her. Now, this. The drinks are gone. Decision time.
9. A photograph from a semi-formal holiday party. You have your arm around Jill. You wear a Santa Claus hat and appear delirious and/or intoxicated.
10. A manuscript, entitled The Emperor of Wishful Thinking.
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a. The opening lines:
“Chapter One Gregory’s finger hesitated above the door buzzer. He thought about all the choices he had made before coming here. Leave Boston. Go back. Give up on poetry and cigarettes, his mother, therapy, celibacy, Buddhism, LSD, choices. Give up on choices.” |
11. A blank postcard of Gustav Courbet’s painting The Origin of the World. On the back is written only “Dear Laura,”
You are 33 years old. Sitting across from Gina, a basket of sourdough bread between you. The clatter of silverware on plates, dinner conversations all around. She waits until her mouth is full and then tells you she’s seeing another man. You don’t ask for how long. You don’t ask anything, just nod and push your crumbs into patterns. You’re afraid to meet her gaze, knowing what you might see.
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May 1, 2009 To: [email protected] Subject: Me again Hey M – Saw on TV it’s the 10 year anniversary of that school shooting in Colorado. 10 years! Jesus. CNN showed a picture of this girl who died (Rachel something) and I felt so sad all over again. Ugh. Anyway, hearing the chatter reminded me of you & that day we cut class to drink your dad’s beer & watch live on TV. I’ll probably delete this w/o sending anyway. C |
You are 28 years old. The motorcycle purrs like a silver lion beneath you. You are content, perhaps even happy. You zoom through the world like it’s a wax museum display. The car appears too fast from your left. You shout at him from inside your helmet. Then you are tumbling through the sky. Fully aware, a moment in time, the majesty of flight. You are not religious but you whisper, “Lord, I’m...” Then you are rolling across asphalt. The rest is silence.
12. Two RON PAUL FOR PRESIDENT bumper stickers.
13. A sheet of stationery from the Mandalay Bay Hotel, Las Vegas.
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a. Written on the paper:
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“Write bestseller; |
You are 19 years old. On September 12, 2001, you go looking for a church but find a bar. Or maybe they’ve become the same thing. So crowded that no one even checks your fake ID. TVs on the walls hawk their scenes of horror to everyone and no one. You keep ordering gin & tonics because you don’t know what else to do. (You like neither gin nor tonic.) Periodically a collective groan erupts from the crowd. Someone down the bar mentions Pearl Harbor, but that might as well have been during the Civil War for all it means to you. You drink and listen, cataloging the experience for some future story.
14. A diamond engagement ring in a box from Tiffany & Co.
You are 25 years old. You have become a man who wears a tie to work. You punch numbers into spreadsheets all day. You have a 401(k). Your father tells you to invest in a condo – “rates are unbelievable right now” – but what you really want is a motorcycle. Lily, in the cubicle next to yours, has a sign taped to her computer: “Follow Your Bliss.” If you followed yours, where would you be?
15. A printout of an eBay listing selling a Tiffany engagement ring.***
***This item received zero bids.
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December 30, 2009 To: [email protected] Subject: Me again Hey M – Got an announcement our 10 year reunion is looming. I already know what people are up to thanks to Facebook etc (except for some people – hint, hint). Hey, remember New Year’s in ’99??? The guy sold us Smirnoff Ice with no IDs because he was sure the world’s computers would all crash at midnight? Good times, lol. C |
16. A page from the May 10, 1999 issue of Time magazine, featuring the essay “A Note for Rachel Scott,” by Roger Rosenblatt.
You are 36 years old. You shiver in the cold leather seat of Norah’s car. She dabs her eyes with a paper napkin from the glove compartment. You’ve never seen her cry before. She’s traveled to faraway lands to help doctors put broken children back together – maybe she cried then, too. The Tiffany box throbs in your jacket pocket like plutonium. While you waited for a table earlier, Norah commented on the hostess’s pants and you realized that you could never offer her the ring. What if she said yes? A small white Buddha sits on the dashboard, smiling at you.
17. A printout of your online dating profile.
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a. Turn-Ons: creativity, spontaneity, independence.
b. A Quote I Love: “I should have been a pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas.” |
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March 11, 2020 To: [email protected] Subject: Does this mean we’re old? Hey M – Twenty years! Going? – C |
18. A pamphlet welcoming members to “The Ecstasy of Words: A Writing & Healing Workshop.”
You are 18 years old. On a June night, you watch a police procedural on TV with your parents. The moment the detectives ring the doorbell of the prime suspect, your doorbell also rings. Megan stands on your front porch, wearing a winter hat with an orange ball on top. She says, “I leave in the morning.” Moths dance around the porch light while you wonder what to say next. She finally pulls a laminated card from her pocket and hands it to you. “Don’t forget about me.” She hugs you, then drives away in her VW Bug. You go back inside just in time to see TV justice served.
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June 1, 2020 To: [email protected]. Subject: Mea Culpa! Dear C, I just logged onto this account for the first time ages & found your messages. No excuses here – I deserve a serious flogging. Gah, so many things to tell you but this isn’t the forum. I want to come to the 20 but nervous (yes, you heard that right)… I’m WAY WAAAAY different than my HS days… don’t be shocked when/if you see me. Write back & talk me into going. I PROMISE to check this! Meg |
You are 17 years old. The first day of your last year of high school. The teacher calls roll while you silently tabulate how many minutes remain until lunchtime. (That’s math, isn’t it?) A girl enters the room, late. Her hair hangs at various lengths; her eyebrow is pierced; she wears red and black plaid pants with shiny metal clasps running down the sides. “I’m Megan,” she announces, looking at the teacher but at a volume surely meant for a larger audience. As she moves to an empty seat she catches you staring and winks.
In the hotel bathroom an old man blinks back at you from the mirror. You apply cologne and brush your hair and adjust your tie and he does the same. In your suitcase, amidst the crumpled clothing and Ziploc’d toiletries, is Megan Wylie’s high school student identification card, for the 1999-2000 school year.
In the photo she wears a T-shirt that reads, “I’m With Stupid,” with an arrow pointing upwards.
There is a knock on your door; the wait is over.
You are 38 years old.
About the Author
Kevin Sharp has written in the worlds of fiction, stage, screen, and video games. He currently runs the comic creator interview series “Between The Panels” at Fanbase Press. Find more of his work at www. kevinsharpwriter.com.
About the Work
This story is a synthesis of two thoughts. First, what if instead of looking at a person’s life as a long, novel-like narrative, we took inventory of it as a series of short stories (sometimes related, sometimes not)? Second was the idea that all of us are time travelers — though less like Delorean driving Marty McFly than like Kurt Vonnegut’s Billy Pilgrim. We take regular journeys to and from the past, whether spurred on by a song, a scent, a photo, or simply the longing in our hearts.
Kevin Sharp has written in the worlds of fiction, stage, screen, and video games. He currently runs the comic creator interview series “Between The Panels” at Fanbase Press. Find more of his work at www. kevinsharpwriter.com.
About the Work
This story is a synthesis of two thoughts. First, what if instead of looking at a person’s life as a long, novel-like narrative, we took inventory of it as a series of short stories (sometimes related, sometimes not)? Second was the idea that all of us are time travelers — though less like Delorean driving Marty McFly than like Kurt Vonnegut’s Billy Pilgrim. We take regular journeys to and from the past, whether spurred on by a song, a scent, a photo, or simply the longing in our hearts.
About the Artist
Salma Ahmad Caller is an Egyptian/British artist who was born in Iraq and grew up in Nigeria and Saudi Arabia. She now lives in the UK. Salma’s art practice involves creating an imagery of the narratives of body that have shaped her own body and identity across profound cultural divides. Her work is strongly visual but also incorporates text and sound works. It is an investigation of the painful and contradictory mythologies surrounding the female body, processes of exoticization, and the legacy of colonialism as a cross-generational transmission of ideas, traumas, bodies and misconceptions.
Her art practice is informed by a Masters in Art History and Theory, having studied medicine, and teaching cross-cultural perspectives at Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford.
About the Art
“The piece is about how the objects we use as women become associated with us, with our bodies. The things we touch and use daily become part of our bodies, etched into us, mapping out zones of patterns of experience in the gestures and movements we use when interacting with these things.”
