Homeland

A homeless man is writing letters to a woman with whom he shared his childhood. They grew up in a very old, distant place where no one else has ever been. They don't live there anymore.

July 24th:

Have you heard? They're talking about us now. I'm starting to hear fragments when I hit the crowds, snatches of yarn from the mouth of the street. And that's all it really is now, a yarn, a story, because none of them were actually there. No one else was. Like one of the old headlines from before the presses broke down, or some small-town parable with a lesson that no one can remember anymore.

I don't know how it started -- maybe something intangible crossed over, a memory maybe, and someone caught it and started talking...

I went back there yesterday, in the afternoon. First time it's happened when the sun's been up. Just snapped right back like nothing ever changed. Saw one of your walkers on the beach; the day had a stiff breeze to it so it was really moving: back and forth, up and down the shore... Those things always looked so real, I don't know how you did it. Got a little bit spooked after a while, being there alone and all...

Saw a lizard before I left, though. You ever seen a lizard? Beautiful things... way off in the mist, must've been about six stories high...

August 17th:

No wonder people think I'm crazy. I'll bet they don't even think you exist. Well, I know the people at the post office don't, but they do send my letters, so... Hey, that gives me a thought. You are getting these, right? I know you're getting these. Send me a letter if you're getting these, maybe that'll get the post office people off my back. I wouldn't fake that. They'd trust me.

Anyway, where was I..? Crazy. Right.

Walked into a junk shop the other day looking for a find, hoping something had crossed over recently -- even just a pebble, or a branch, 'cause then I'd know for sure, and... Sorry. You know the kinda place, though, don't you? They must have them too, wherever you are. All sorts of 'vintage' stuff, newspapers and electric motors and briefcases, all that. Guy behind the counter looked at me funny but didn't give me any trouble. But --

When I came back, I was on the floor. Just moving, couldn't stop moving, and I didn't notice the drool and sweat at first 'cause I'd been swimming, such warm water off the beach, and there had been another lizard too, right under me, and the space down there was as big and open as the plains where we used to live -- I drew the comparison and the whole place flooded, miles and miles of it, and that's when I woke up on the guy's floor. Can't tell if I'm dreaming or if I'm actually there... Can't tell anymore. It's crazy. But I'm not, I mean...

October 5th:

I hear from the crowds that they've got a new way of printing. Something to do with water, no moving parts so it's okay. Don't like the way it looks, myself. The paper's all white, looks wrong -- yellow and brown were just fine, weren't they? Not like I was there at the time, though. I don't like this place******* almost wrote your name there. Don't want them to find you and take you even further away -- switching is hard to control here, hope it's easier for you.

It's been about a month and I hate the sound of the roads, the crowds... But no one gets it. They think I'm asking them for money.

I just want to go back. So why can't I?

October 9th:

Have you heard? I don't think they're talking about us anymore. The yarn's over for them. They've had their glimpse and now they're off to work... That's what they do here, by the way. They call it work but it's nothing like it. They don't get anything done. And they smile, they smile like it's normal and I'M the one to dismiss... I don't understand it. Their presses and briefcases and 'numadic tubing' and their crowds.

October 10th:

Saw one of your walkers on the beach today. "The beach" like "the post office" I mean, the beach here, with all the people and boats and noises. I thought it was just me at first, but it was right there. Walking hand-in-hand with the wind, like you used to tell me when I would ask how they worked. I don't think it'll last long, though -- moving parts don't work right, here. They die. None of their machines are alive.

I wonder when it got here? What else has crossed over?

November 1st:

Went back there again today. Didn't last long. I saw another lizard, up close this time. All stone and moss and beauty, slowly moving parts -- Here, it would die fast, because this place is fragile. Not like Home... That's true, isn't it? Please send me a letter, please tell me that's true. That place is strong, so strong.

That place is real.

January 4th:

Why are you sending my letters back?