Sassafras, Part 5


Joan


When I walked inside Billy was still on the computer. I was cold, so I went to the kitchen and looked for something hot to drink. No coffee, but I found a couple of packs of instant cocoa and some tea bags. I put two coffee mugs in the microwave and made up some cocoa for both of us.

"What are you reading?" I asked Billy as I handed him a cup.

"I'm reading Mom's blog," he said.

"Blog? What's a blog? Is that some king of computer game?"

"No, Aunt Jo. A blog is like a diary or journal, but it's on the computer and other people can read it if they want to. Didn't you ever read it?"

"No, I don't have a computer at home. I really don't like computer's very much. I have one at work, but I usually just wait and use my typewriter at home, or work with one of the secretaries back at the office and have them print stuff up. I guess I'm just old fashioned. Give me a pen and a notebook, and I'm happy."

"I thought you read it. She wrote a lot about you in it."

"She did? What did she write?"

Billy scrolled around a little, clicked here and there, and then swiveled the monitor so I could read it.



October 12

I talked to Joan on the phone this morning. She's so excited about a project she’s been working on for months. I don't have any idea what she really does, but listening to her talk about her job I can tell she loves it. She works for a big real estate firm, buying and selling high priced buildings in Manhattan as far as I can tell. I don't know if she knows how much I envy her. I've never had a dream come true like she has. I love living in a small town, where I know everybody and nothing bad ever happens, but nothing exciting ever happens, either. I can't believe anybody reads this blog because I lead such a boring life.

Some times I wonder what would have happened if I'd listened to my mom and dad, not gotten married so young, and then ended up widowed with a baby on the way. All my dreams died with Bill. If I didn't have a baby to think about I don't know what I would have done. Maybe I could have gone to college, or moved in with Joan and had a career and gone to fancy restaurants with exotic, foreign boyfriends.

Oh, well, no sense crying over spilled milk. I'm happy with my small town life, my crazy customers and driving-me-crazy son.



I couldn't believe she envied me, and I never even knew. She was always so happy, bragging about Billy and gossiping about work. She always had funny stories about the people she worked with, or the customers. I thought her life was perfect.

"This is all on the computer, and other people come over and read it?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. Well, they don’t come over here. It’s on-line, you can read it anywhere. I don't think anybody we know reads it, except some of my dad's family in Phoenix. Mom writes a lot about people at work. She calls it the Asylum. Here, let me find you the entry about the guy who came in with a chicken."

"A chicken? No wonder she called it the Asylum."

He did a little more scrolling and clicking, and then this entry came up.



April 7

Crazy Mike, one of the regulars at work, came in today with a chicken in his pocket. It was just a little chicken, I think they’re called banties, and if I hadn't seen it poke it's head out of his pocket I don't think I would have even noticed it. When I was filling up his coffee I asked him what he had in his pocket. At first he denied having anything in his pocket, but it poked it's little head out again and pecked at his sleeve. It was all brown and gold, with a little puffy red comb like a racing stripe.

There was no denying it; he had a chicken in his pocket. He finally leaned up close to me, and whispered, "His name is Tarzan."

I leaned over and asked him what was Tarzan doing in Don's. He said Tarzan was lonely when he was left at home. The neighbor's cat ate all Tarzans chicken friends, and Mike was afraid Tarzan would be the next cat snack if he didn't watch out for him.

"Would Tarzan like something for breakfast?" I asked. Yes, as a matter of fact he would, so I put a little oatmeal flakes on a pie plate and passed it over to him. When Tarzan was done with his oatmeal, and Mike finished his coffee they both left.

Yes, believe it or not, this is my life.


I scrolled down and saw entry after entry, all written by my sister, but I didn't recognize the writing. She never wrote a diary when we were little. I asked Billy how long had she been writing this blog thing. He said she had been writing in it for about three years. Click, click, he had it on what he called the main page. The top of the screen was all puffy clouds and rainbows. It said Welcome to the Sassafras Asylum in big letters across the clouds. The middle of the page was all entries she had written. Down the right side was a list of web addresses, followed by a list of dates. Down the left side was a series of photos of Jenny and Billy, cartoons and little ads for web sites. It felt strange seeing their pictures on the computer monitor, like they were celebrities or something. Where did those pictures come from? I wondered if there were pictures of me floating around in the Internet somewhere.

Billy showed me how to click on the dates on the left to find earlier entries, and clicked on a couple of the addresses to go to other blogs Jenny read. I read her blog for about an hour, reading details of her life I had never known, like the fact that she was into new age hocus pocus. She learned to read tarot cards even. She seemed to believe anything she read, stuff about crystals and spirit guides, real X-Files material.

After a while I got lost on the computer. I guess I clicked one too many times and couldn't figure out how to get back to Jenny's blog thing. Billy was in his room playing a video game on one of those little hand held toys. I told him I lost Jenny’s blog. He said he would come pull it back up, but I told him I was tired and was just going to go to bed.