Dear Wigleaf,

This postcard is being written on a cruise ship heading somewhere, no doubt. I seem to be lounging by the ship's narrow pool, which is fitted out with snorkeled children playing noisily while their sun-visored parents suck margaritas through thick straws. Waiters in Hawaiian shirts hold large trays of iced shrimp. From a high perch, a lifeguard dozes behind mirrored sunglasses. A whistle hangs from the lifeguard's neck. I feel either a little too hot or a little too cold; it's hard to say. I have been out in the sun too long or I really need to get started on my tan. I am either hungry or I couldn't eat another bite.
 
All that is certain is that my postcard is drawing attention. The waiters, passing by, give me looks I'm not sure how to read. When a child swims to my side of the pool, the child's mother cautions her away. Even the lifeguard seems to eye me from behind the veil of sleep. Do they fear, correctly, that I am including them in my note? Have I invaded their privacy? Such are the suspicions a postcard writer arouses in 2020. And I would make a show of capping my pen and putting the postcard away, if a waiter didn't appear at this very moment and offer me a tray of shrimp. 

"Thank you," I say. "I'd love some."

The shrimp, still wearing their heads, eye me doubtfully, suspiciously.




- - -

Read AV's story.

W i g l e a f                02-09-20                                [home]