What does it mean that I received mail addressed to my mother today? It’s nothing personal, junk mail from T-Mobile but still, a little weird.
My mother visited here twice, as I recall, maybe only once. She never received mail here, and I’m not aware she would ever have had reason to be associated with this address in any obvious way. I guess she could possibly have used me as an emergency contact but still, how does that get cornflaked into her receiving mail here? “cornflaked”, I crack myself up. No idea where that came from but I officially declare it a new word meaning contortedly connected.
I’ve been with T-Mobile myself but never would have used her name for any reason. She’s been dead 12 years now. The address on the mailer does not include my apartment number, which suggests the USPS deliberately looked at the last name and matched it to mine. I don’t pay attention to most junk mail so this could be happening more than I realize.
I once found a biography of her online. It seemed to be derived from public records but with curiously personal references to hobbies and volunteer activities. I took it to have been an adaptation of her professional resumé, which was strange because she retired before the internet was any kind of a force in job searches. She would never have had reason to post her resumé online and I doubt she ever even sent it through e-mail.
I also once received a series of calls from a collection agency asking for a woman whose name does, in fact, exist somewhere in my extended family. It’s a distinctive name. I asked an appropriate relative if that person owed anyone money. He laughed, said no way. Where do these calls come from? What swirl of data points connects them?
For a number of years mail meant for my father arrived here. But that made sense, as I had estate related things forwarded to the 181 and other stuff forwarded here. I got a couple of his music catalogues and some gay porn video and product catalogues.
Maybe that connection of me forwarding his mail here is enough. His mail forwarded here, with the fact that he never officially divorced my mother, made some database think that they both cheated death and live with me in this 1-bedroom apartment.
I sometimes wished I’d told our mother that daddy was gay. It might have answered a lot of questions for her. Explained things. To me it explained some of his gawky, half-blossomed attempts at flamboyance. For mother it might have explained similar characteristics of his I remember her pointing out.
I think I kept it from her out of a selfish and naïve fear that it would crush her, make her feel like that half of their relationship was wasted, and even a form of torture for him. And what about the kids? How and why were we even born?
Nah. She’d have shrugged it off. What difference did it make, anyway?
