by Jarett Kobek
And yet people keep writing. And yet the words keep coming.
CHRISTMAS DAY 1996
When Christmas rolled around, I walked to my once and future apartment. They were celebrating the holiday for Emil. An East Village punk turned legal assistant and his comic artist girlfriend had settled into an offbeat vision of middle-class life.
I called from the street. Jon let me in. We said our hellos. I asked how the packing was going. He said it wasn’t much of a problem, at least when it came to his own stuff, as he’d only moved in a few months earlier.
—I haven’t even unpacked, he said. Not really. So it’s easy.
—And Adeline?
—Adeline’s another story.
The apartment was festooned in Xmas kitsch. Adeline’s apron gave her a beleaguered look. Emil ran around, clutching shitty plastic toys sent by Suzanne. Shreds of torn-up wrapping paper were scattered like bodies at Chickamauga.
—Many apologies for the catastrophe, she said, but that’s Christmas. I remember when Mother and Daddy would give us presents and we’d carpet the house with trash. Yet here we stand, repeating their sins with a new generation.
—Baby, said Emil, come look.
I followed the child into his room and sat on the floor. He picked up this stuffed doll. It looked like a character from Sesame Street.
—What’s his name? I asked.
—Elmo, said Emil. Look.
He tickled the toy’s stomach, causing the thing to laugh and shake.
—That tickles! said the toy. Oh boy!
Emil tickled the toy again, causing another round of violent paroxysms. I watched for as long as I could, but the squealing thing gave me a headache. I went into the kitchen.
—You’re going to go insane with Elmo, I said to Adeline.
—Mother sent it, she said. I’m hoping that Elmo breaks soon. He’s been screaming all morning.
—Clearly, I said, we live in the best of all possible worlds.
We went into her bedroom. Soon it would be mine. If I wanted. Or maybe I’d stick with my old room and turn Adeline’s into a study. Both rooms were the same size. It didn’t matter.
—As I’m packing up the entirety of my life, all manner of odd things have made reappearances.
—I can’t believe you’re leaving.
—Baby, she said, don’t exasperate. Don’t act like a parvenu. If you miss us, buy a fucking plane ticket. You’re moneyed. You can stay whenever you want. I’m always Adeline. You’re always Baby. That much never changes. Location is irrelevant.
—I’ll miss you, I said. God, why did you choose California? There’s so many places to live. Anywhere but California!
—That’s very well, she said, but we must all cultivate our own gardens.
Jarett Kobek is a Turkish American writer living in California. He is the author of the novella ATTA (2011) and the novel I Hate the Internet (2016), an international bestseller that has appeared, or is scheduled to appear, in seven languages.
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