Today was a day of redemption for those of us that were picked last.  Today, we went to baseball. Baseball didn’t come to us.

Slake Magazine’s Craig Gaines called the game and the challengers were Red Hen Press, Los Angeles Review of Books (LARB), and Black Clock Magazine.

It was the first game of the Los Angeles’ indie press initiated Litball.  When you get a bunch of writers together, some of them in matching outfits, the quality of conversation goes up.

At some point, I found myself at the motel.

I stood in front of the blinking neon tubes that outlined the shape of the flamingo on the motel’s sign: The Flamingo Motel in Roswell, New Mexico. A few years earlier, my mom had told me a story about this motel.

“I remember once when I was a teenager,” she said as we drove past the broken down adobe structure, “I was walking down the street and right there – right in front of that sign – I saw a spaceship. It was up in the sky, not far, and perfectly clear. I was scared.”

“Really?” I asked, excited. “Were you alone? What was going on?”

She wrinkled her forehead, concentrating. “I may have been on acid,” she said.

Dear Gloria circa August 2000,

I am writing from the future. Ten years ahead in fact.

I’ve seen all the movies and read all the cautionary tales that warn about the negative effects altering the past could and most likely would have on the future, so I want to be really careful here. It’s important that I impart a few words of advice, but, though there are aspects of my life today that I would love to undo, there are many aspects that I wouldn’t change for the world. I have no desire to try to alter your path. I wouldn’t wish any of your choices be different. My goal here isn’t to warn you against doing what I’ve already done, but to arm you with tools that I’ve only just begun to collect and use.

I know, I know, we’ve had our differences.

Jesus, I know.

You have no idea the number of times when I thought it was over. For real, you know? You have no idea the number of times I tried to force myself to swallow that knowledge, pushing it past my teeth with my bare hands, like a cold lump of congealed lard, until I nearly choked on it. Because I just couldn’t accept the gulf between what I wanted and the undeniable truth.

Page 1

The End