Every Boy's Got One

e-mails

To: Cal Langdon

Fr: Joan Langdon < joan.langdon@artintucson.com joan.langdon@artintucson.com>

Re: Mary

Hi, Calvin! It’s me, Mom. I don’t know where you are right now—are you still in Riyadh? I know you were on Charlie Rose — one of my neighbors told me. But of course I missed it, because you know I don’t own a television—so you must have been back in the US for that.

I did buy your new book. It was very long.

But they have it in the window at Books-A-Million, so I’m sure you’ll sell lots of copies.

Anyway, I hope you’re well, and not working too hard… but knowing you, I’m sure that’s the case. You were always such a workaholic. Remember in high school, when you were so determined to get into Yale? Your dad and I couldn’t understand it. What’s so wrong with a state school? We went to one, and didn’t turn out so badly.

But you got your way, in the end. As always. Well, I mean, you got in. Too bad they wouldn’t give us enough financial aid to let you go. But hey, you turned out all right! Looks like Ohio State didn’t hurt you too much!

I myself am doing extremely nicely—I have a show at the Tucson Senior Center next month, featuring my latest series of “lint people.” I really think these latest pieces are going to put me on the map in the art world. I see myself as a sort of middle-aged, female Matthew Barnye. You know, the artist who made a name for himself with Vaseline sculptures?

I can’t tell you how good it feels, Cal, to finally be expressing my creative side. I felt so STIFLED all those years I ignored the artistic part of me. I really hope you’re finding a way to let your own creativity flow, Cal. I know some people call writing art, but what you write… well, I don’t think nonfiction counts. You’ve always looked down on your sister and me, I know, calling us “flakes.”

But there’s nothing “flakey” about creative expression, Cal. Nothing at all.

Speaking of your sister, I was wondering if you’d heard from her. I only ask because I had the oddest dream last night, in which you, your dad, and Mary and I were trapped on a frozen pond, and the ice had begun to crack. Oddly, you were the only one who managed to pull yourself to safety.

So I was just wondering if you knew if Mary was all right.

That’s all.

Mom

___________________________________________

To: Cal Langdon

Fr: Hank Langdon < hank.langdon@expat.net>

Re: Hey

Hey! Whaddaya think? I got myself online! Yeah! I know! It’s a miracle!

So when are you coming for a visit? I got an extra set of clubs. The courses here ain’t bad at all. Well, you know, except for the spics. But you can’t escape the spics in Mexico City, let me tell you!

Hey, I heard you landed some big book deal, or something. Think you can loan your old man ten grand or so? I got myself in a little deep with this guy over a horse—

Well, let me know. And if you talk to your mother or sister, tell ’em to lay off me. They’ve bled me dry. I don’t have two pesos left to rub together.

Manana.

Dad

___________________________________________

To: Cal Langdon

Fr: Mary Langdon

Re: You

So I take it from your not emailing me back that you have no interest in me or my life. I guess the word FAMILY doesn’t mean anything to you.

Whatever. I can get along fine without you—which is why the judge granted me Emancipated Minor status in the first place.

I’m in Canada, now, in case you’re interested. Not that MY travels could be of any interest to such a jetsetter like yourself. Where are YOU now, anyway? Gstaad? Ougoudagou? Some place more fabulous than where I am, I’m sure.

Don’t worry (like youwould ), I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s not that cold here yet. Well, except at night. But I’ve been sleeping in the van. Too bad Jeff can’t leave the heat on overnight, but it wears out the battery.

See you in the next life.

Mare

___________________________________________

To: Mary Langdon

Fr: Cal Langdon

Re: You

What is wrong with you? Why are you sleeping in some guy’s van? I thought you’d have learned a lesson about that, given what happened last time.

And I DID reply to your last email. If you’d quit changing your email address every two days, you might actually hear from some of the people you’ve written to once in a while.

I can give you another thousand bucks if you let me know where I can wire it. But what happened to the grand I sent you last month? What are you doing with all of my money, anyway? If I find out you’re blowing all of my money on drugs, Mary, I’m cutting you off. Do you understand me? Because I don’t think you’re quite getting the Emancipated part of being an emancipated minor. Which, by the way, at 25, you’re not anymore.

Cal

___________________________________________

To: Cal Langdon

Fr: Mary Langdon

Re: You

Oh my God, you are the best big brother any girl’s ever had EVER! Send the money to the Western Union here in Whistler, BC.

And we have to live in the van because all the cheap apartments and hotel rooms are taken by Winter X boarders right now, gearing up for the games. But it’s cool, because we’re selling TONS of tie-dyed shit. We can’t dye it fast enough, it seems.

And I need the cash for necessities, tampons, and food and stuff, until we start showing a profit. Jesus, Cal. I would never do drugs. I need my brain cells for my ART.

Thanks—U R the BEST!!

Much love,

Your little sis

___________________________________________

To: Mark Levine

Fr: Ruth Levine

Re: Hello!

Sweetie, I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re having fun on your little European jaunt, but I need to know ASAP: What size sweater are you wearing lately? I know usually you like a Large, but you joined that gym, didn’t you? So maybe you’ve bulked up a little, and need an Extra Large?

I only ask because it turns out Susie Schramm—you remember, I told you about her in my last email— she knits! Yes! On top of being a high-powered legal eagle AND a size four, she knits in her spare time (I mean, the time she spares from her work and volunteering for B’Nai Brith, of course).

And I’ve commissioned a sweater for you from her. Apparently, she isn’t afraid to use bold colors, either. I know how much you love yellow, so that’s what you’re getting….

Ooops, it was supposed to be a Hannukah surprise! Oh, well!

Write soon and let me know.

Love,

Mom

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To: Holly Caputo

Fr: Darrin Caputo

Re: Hello, it is your mother

Holly, it is your mother again. Darrin says I’m not to use his email anymore to write to you, but you do not pick up your cell phone when I call. Either your cell phone doesn’t work in Europe, or you are using that Caller ID, and not picking up when you see it is me.

Which is fine. I understand that you do not want to speak to your mother. Even though I am the one who gave birth to you, and wept with joy when I heard the doctor say you were a girl, the little daughter I had almost given up hope of having after four boys in a row.

I am writing now because I saw Jane Harris’s mother at the Kroger Sav-On yesterday, and what she said to me there disturbs me very much. Your father says it is nothing, but I do not agree. I was telling Mrs. Harris how lucky she is to have a daughter like Jane, who sees only nice Christian boys, like that very pleasant British boy, Dave, and the investment banker, Malcolm.

And Mrs. Harris says to me, “But Mark Levine is very nice, too. Listen, Maria, you must stop thinking of it as losing a daughter, but instead, of gaining a son.”

What does Claire Harris mean by this? Why would she think I am gaining a son? I do not need any more sons, I already have four… five if you count Darrin’s Roberto. Holly, you are not thinking of doing something foolish when you are in Italy, are you?

I hope you know that if you marry this boy Mark, he will NOT be a son to me. Just as you will no longer be my daughter. Think on this, I beg you.

I will pray for you.

Your mother