Notes from the Future: Paper Airplane

[A paper airplane was seen to float from the upper tiers of seats at the Oakland Coliseum on the date of April 6, 2012; writing covered both sides of the paper. It was recovered by John Wolfe, age 8, from Truth Or Consequences, Arizona; young Mr. Wolfe was sitting in Section #216. John Wolfe is also the name of one of Edward Hightower's friends from his days at TAC. Neither of these John Wolfes is related to the other. The elder Mr. Wolfe is not from Arizona, but he was known at the Conservatory as "Truthy John." There are no coincidences, but there are always consequences.]

April 6, 1993

Miss Veronica Torres
Section #214
First Two Rows
Near Plaza Club
Oakland Coliseum
Oakland, CA
USA

Dear Veronica,
You are eleven years old this year. You don't know it, but the seat you're sitting in today is the same seat you will be sitting in, twenty years from now, next to the man you will marry. Not the man next to you right now, you are not going to marry your Tio. But he will dance at your wedding and drink a lot of Tequila -- your Tio, not the man you will marry. Well, okay, the man you will marry will also dance -- with you -- at your wedding, but he will save Tequila for the Honeymoon. Tio's speech should be professionally recorded, it's going to be hilarious. The man on the other side of you is your father. Trust me when I tell you that he is not evil, and he loves you very much. That will become more clear to you in the future, but for now just let it simmer in the back of your mind. Also, in the event of a cataclysmic earthquake, know that your Dad is better prepared than most and can hold out longer than expected. Look to your own safety first.

Why do I tell you who these men are, when you already know? Because I want you to know that I am telling you the truth, that I know these men in your future, and that I am the man you are going to marry. I know that seems strange: you've just found this paper airplane floating down from the seats above you, the whole thing could be a joke. It's pretty weird, that's for sure. Well, the problem is that I am trapped right now in a kind of skipping time loop. What that means is that I am bouncing around from time to time, like a kite caught in the wind that never quite touches down to earth. Kooky, right? Imagine what it's doing to my sleep cycle. Anyway. Here we are at the same A's Game, and there you are in the exact same seat you'll be in next to me in twenty years. So I thought I would write you this note and tell you a couple of things.

Here's the first thing: within a couple of months after we first meet in 2002, you are going to have a dream. Tell me about that dream right away, don't hesitate. And if I make jokes about it, please remember that I am making those jokes because the dream is very significant to me, and maybe a little frightening. I can't tell you what the dream is about right now. That is for you to discover in time. But we must act upon your dream the moment you have it. By doing so, I may avoid becoming trapped in this loop.

The second thing I need you to know is that you should take every available opportunity to learn marksmanship and gun safety. You should go to a firing range as often as possible. You have a natural gift here, and you should capitalize on it. Maybe wait a couple of years, but why not try Archery for now? Particular attention should be paid to moving targets of varying sizes and speeds, especially those running directly at you.

The third and final thing that you must remember is the most important one of all. It may seem like a joke, but I assure you, I am deadly serious: there will come several times when I am lost in thought, apparently daydreaming, with the kitchen a mess and the bed unmade and laundry that needs doing. You will get frustrated, seeing me staring off into the distance, completely unaware of my surroundings. You will want to yell at me and tell me to do some goddamn dishes because I'm underemployed and home more than you are. It will be very satisfying for you to snap me out of my daydream on those occasions, and any arguments that result will have the addictive negative quality of all angry arguments, so that every time you snap me out of my daydream the argument will get more intense and you will get more and more upset with my need to daydream.

All I can tell you is that it will be better -- everything will be better -- if you are patient with me. Let me daydream. Let me dream. I truly, deeply need to dream. I need it when I'm awake and I need it when I'm asleep. Being jarred awake from either a night- or day-dream has devastating consequences on me, not least of which is the intense physical pain that comes when I am yanked from sleeping and dreaming to waking. I promise you that, even when I am sitting still lost in a dream, I am working. I may not be sweeping the patio or dusting the mantle, but I am working. And those things -- dishes, laundry, making the bed -- those things will happen. In fact, they'll happen more often and more happily if I have done all the dreamwork I need to do for the day. It's homework for my soul, nourishing and healing. My untidiness stems from being called upon to put my energy into everyone else's work; because of that, I'm pulled away from what really needs my attention and my life looks like a string of incomplete projects connected by the dusty twine of days ill spent and nights of lost, unwholesome sleep.
There is more, but I'm running out of space.
I'll write again as soon as I can.
Love,


Edward
PS, Take an Improv class, at least once a year. You need to get over that.

[Young John Wolfe was seized with the need to deliver this paper airplane and scampered away from his dad and uncle -- again, not a coincidence -- to find Section #214. There was a woman named Veronica Torres in the second row of Section #214. There was also a Veronica Torres in the first row of the same section, but at the other end. Young John Wolfe reached the incorrect Veronica Torres first and, even though she was not eleven years old, he gave her the paper airplane. "It came from above," is what he said, in that dialect peculiar to boys under age 10. The incorrect Veronica Torres is now happily married as a result, with a happy baby on the way and at least three more destined to follow. Her husband, a banker, never daydreamed when he met her. But he has taken up painting and sacred geometry of late, two things in which he never showed interest in all his prior thirty-eight years. His name is Edward. But he is not dashing, charming or aggravating. He had the good sense to move his family to Wisconsin, though, so they are safe and perhaps he can be forgiven if he is not as interesting as other Edwards of whom we are aware.]