12.31.2020 | The Future Forest

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Wuck

what are we doing tonight? sarah asks me from the kitchen. are we going to the beach house?

i’ve just returned from refilling ben’s reflux medicine and picking up sarah’s new birth control from the cvs on first and 14th. afterwards i decided to hit the mcdonald’s on the southeast corner of the block and--per your recommendation, murph--see what that double cheeseburger was all about. i can’t remember the last time i had mcdonald’s. i did, however, remember how much <quote-01>dave loves the holiday pies<quote-01> when i saw an ad for them in the window.

i got the double cheeseburger and a decaf and took them to the park on the west side of 2nd at 17th. in all honesty, i expected to take one bite of the burger and toss the rest, <quote-02>but i ended up wolfing the whole thing<quote-02>. the decaf was shit, but i finished that as well.

on my drive home a new lucinda williams song popped up on my spotify: big black train, it’s called. it opens with a lazily strummed acoustic guitar atop a stark soundscape of electronic reverb. then her voice comes in, high in the mix.

at first i heard it as a song about death, then i started to hear it as a song about love. i started it over. i don’t wanna be no special rider; i don’t wanna get onboard. i fought back sobs as i sat in traffic on delancey, waiting to cross the williamsburg bridge.

our side of the block was empty when i got back--street cleaning this morning--<quote-03>so i parked right where i wanted<quote-03>. i brought up a couple packages for sarah from the entryway. she’d gotten me a cookbook for christmas that hadn’t arrived yet, but neither of these felt heavy enough to be that.

man, i wish, i respond to sarah, not having the energy to conjure the many san clemente new years’ activities that have become tradition for our group. we don’t have any plans for the evening; <quote-04>it will be, for us, a night like most others<quote-04>.

we should get a small bottle of champagne, sarah says. of course, i agree. oh, and lets pull out the polka dot flutes kristen got us for our wedding, sarah suggests.

after frying myself a couple eggs and pan-toasting the last of the english muffins purchased for <quote-05>the webber family christmas morning casserole<quote-05>, i head down the block to the liquor store. all the half-bottles are proseccos. i know it’s just for the two of us to toast at midnight, <quote-06>but this will not do, i think, not after this year<quote-06>.

we’ll get takeout from somewhere and find a film to watch, i suppose. we rewatched gerwig’s little women earlier in the week. it was even better than we remembered. we were endlessly pausing to rewind--or rather, i was.

when i get back, sarah greets me in the doorway with an accusatory look. i just found some peanut butter cookies, she says. the little market around the corner sells a balled peanut butter cookie that is her absolute favorite. i’d grabbed two yesterday when buying provisions for last night’s dinner, then had forgotten about them. oh yeah, my bad, i tell her. when are they from? she asks. only yesterday. / can i have mine now? i suggest we save them to go with the champagne at midnight. ah, good idea, she agrees. champagne and a peanut butter cookie! i bet that’ll be nice, <quote-07>she muses<quote-07>. yes, i think you’re right.

after finding a spot in the fridge for the bubbly, i make my way to the bedroom to do a little work on my letter. sarah follows.

i forgot to tell you what i got for my girl-night gift, she says, showing me a small black box with a collage of black and white busts on the cover. this day in women’s history: 365 extraordinary women and events that shaped history. we can start each day learning about historical women together as a family, she says. oooh, i like that, i tell her. you know, the best part about learning about women in the morning, i continue, is that afterwards you can feel free to forget about them for the rest of the day. / you need a smack? <quote-08>she asks<quote-08>, heading back to the kitchen.

once she’s gone, i find a spot on the bed and open up my laptop.

i wonder what you’ll each be doing when we decide on what to watch during dinner tonight; what when we pop the cork a few minutes before midnight, east coast time; what when we decide to pop it earlier, before dinner maybe; what when ben gets fussy, and what when he’s content; what when i take cooper out for his last walk of the day; what when i unplug the tree before bed, and what when i notice i’m dozing and close my book and click off the light and turn away from sarah to fall asleep.

<quote-09>happy new year, boys<quote-09>.

you gonna finish your writing project today? sarah hollers from the other room. yeah, i think so, i tell her.

December 31st

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<pull-quote>dave loves the holiday pies<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>The one time Dave came to Thanksgiving, that's what he brought: twenty-four holiday pies!<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>but i ended up wolfing the whole thing<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Does this constitute a verdict?<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>prittaaay, prittaaay, prittaaay, prittaaay good.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>I'm glad. There's a very real chance with any chain that you get the goods on an off day. I'm relieved they were at their best that day on First and 14th, at least as regards the double chee.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>so i parked right where i wanted<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Fuck yeah!<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>This is the Brooklyn version of coming home late night in Upland, cruising Euclid and hitting all green lights.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>it will be, for us, a night like most others<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Ditto, brother. Literally sitting here commenting while Grammar has a snack behind me and Kristen cleans the kitchen.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>

<pull-quote>the webber family christmas morning casserole<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Webber as in what you ate Christmas morning as a child? Regardless, give it to me.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i have a scanned copy of the recipe in my email. it's typed out on letter paper, with a message from my sister and me scrawled across the center of the page: mom! stop doing it! you're kiling us!<p-comment>
<p-comment>as kids, i think we were turned off by the green chiles.<p-comment>
<p-comment>butter the baking dish, halved english english muffins to line the bottom, sprinkle atop a bunch of crumbled breakfast sausage (pre-cooked), pour over a bunch of eggs beaten with sour cream, sprinkle on diced green chiles and cheese of choice. leave in fridge overnight. bake in the morning. serve in squares.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>but this will not do, i think, not after this year<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Atta boy.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I got a two-foot tall bottle of prosecco from a friend this summer. I hid it in the garage. For when the baby comes, I thought. What a surprise. But when Robin came, Rachel surprised me by not really wanting any. So this New Year's, I opened that damn thing. Like lifting a kettle bell each refill. Still working on it as I type now.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>sarah didn’t end up having much, but the little she had got to her pretty quick. i ended up putting back most of the bottle. oof.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>she muses<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Hoke is constantly going on about liking everyone more after this year of reading about them. We’re just, you know, different, Hoke and I.<p-comment>
<p-comment>That said, on the heels of our strange year of writing, a little exchange like this makes me long to hang out with you two, maybe even a bit more than I would have this time last year.<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I'm glad reading through these letters has helped you better enjoy my point of view.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>That was MY water bottle, motherfucker!<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>she asks<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Hilarious.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Sarah was cracking me and Kristen up the other night during our phone conversation. That was lovely, right? Like how I imagine it might be if we all lived close to each other.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>oh man. the best. what a wonderful surprise to have the wives take over our video call! so lovely to spend an evening together with everyone.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Wuck, you were theorizing like, "I'll never know what it's like to be you, you know. To be someone else, their experience. It's impossible. I can't even imagine it...right?"<p-comment>
<p-comment>Then Rachel whispered to me: "I'm confused; isn't that what acting is kinda all about?" I was like, "Right? This fuckin' guy."<p-comment>
<p-comment>Wuck: "...what really interests me is, I'll never know what it's like to be someone else experiencing ME, you know?"<p-comment>
<p-comment>Then Sarah shouted from the kitchen: "I can tell ya!"<p-comment>
<p-comment>The look on your face, Wuck! Zero defensiveness in that big orange beard smile! It was a sweetness that stuck with me, even now.<p-comment>
<p-comment>We've never hung out like that, just the six of us, have we? It's wild that I had to be the one to say goodnight; Rachel could have stayed on with you another hour.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>

<pull-quote>happy new year, boys<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Happy New Year, Wuck. Here's to you, to Hoke, and to auld lang syne.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I took Abram to Brennan and Tara’s this afternoon to see the lambs born just after midnight, first hour of the year. At first I wanted to write about it in a letter to you guys, but--like ploughing--that season is done.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Instead, it felt nice (new?) to drop just one photo of Abram holding a baby lamb into a text to you both. You know the background, you know these people now. You're part of it.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Like Brennan some day walking beneath the shade of his chestnut grove, I wonder too how what we've planted here might grow to canopy our final days.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
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