From An Admirer

The small brown parcel arrived in the mail on Thursday afternoon. As I untied the string holding it closed, I thought to myself, "who ties parcels with string anymore? We have a little thing called tape, people!" After struggling with knots that were clearly tied with a heavy-duty industrial knot-tying machine and resorting to my pocket knife, I ripped the paper off and threw off the cardboard lid.

Inside, on a bed of tissue paper, lay a singular flower. It was tiny and delicate, five blue petals with a yellow eye. There was no note, no card, not even a return address. The message, I deduced, must be the flower itself.

I retrieved the wildflower guide I received for Christmas some years ago from an aunt too cheap to get me a proper gift, and flipped through its pages. After about twenty minutes of searching, I found it; a True Forget-me-not, Myosotis scorpioides.

"Forget-me-not?" I thought, baffled and a little bit weirded out, "who wants me to remember them? It seems I've already forgotten the fool!" I chuckled at my own irreverent insouciance. I got up to put the book back on its shelf, and as I closed the cover, a slip of paper fell out from between the pages and landed at my feet. Could this be what the flower's sender meant for me to find?

I bent down to examine it.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Let's trade mix CDs.

"We should trade mix CDs."

Where do you live?

"Outside your postal code / state / country. Why? Is that a problem?"

Well... not necessarily. But the last person I promised to mail a mix CD to has been waiting for three or four years. And there was this other chick whom I dropped 20 dollars on at Sanrio while she was overseas. That was... five years ago? And I haven't so much as bought stamps yet. Yeah.

"I've got time."

So you think. But if you get hit by a low-flying passenger bus, you better not haunt me.

"Tch. If I die, I'm gonna haunt someone sexy."

You mean someone... less... sexy?

"Lead pipe to the thorax! Aw yeah!"

Wh-? Are you playing a video game while we're talking?

"Hold on dude. Sadie wants to talk to you."

"hay nate! whattup duders"

I'm pretty sure I don't know anyone named Sadie.

"omgooses you silly dweeb- this is saders from the new jersey health convention"

I've never in my life been to New Jersey. And a health convention sounds either completely salutary or entirely hazardous.

"these are satyrs from the convex heliotrope gardens"

No such thing. Ever.

"are u listening to bloodstone by amon tobin???"

Well, I was. Wait. What is this? Put the other guy back on. Put, uh- Who was I talking to before?

"jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake!! jaaaaake!"

"Okay. I'm back."

I'm really confused right now.

"Oh, I'm filling an envelope with glitter and matches. Gimme your address."

No. You give me your address and I'll send you a link to a Google Maps page showing local psychiatric help.

"Is it sexy psychiatric help?"

I'm going with yes...