How would God respond to making a mistake? Would planets collide or mountains slide into the sea? Or would the ledger of all life simply remain out kilter until a series of small events forced that ledger back into balance again? It's probably the l...
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April is over (thank God).
It is May (the month of false hope)
and the month with the show-show-showiest flowers
Years ago (on an especially bright day in May), I saw a black cat crossing a street in Baltimore. The sun was so bright that the cat and the shadow of the cat seemed like they were the same living creature. It was as if they had gotten fused together like bits of glass in a furnace. At the time, it also struck me as comforting to think that the cat and its shadow could exist together in such harmony. When I was young, my shadow was Crow. When I was older, it was Ril. Now, I think it's you, Charon.
That probably doesn't make much sense, does it? It does to me though, because every time I open my mouth, I feel like I'm burdening you with all my problems. Whether I try to hide them or not, the details of my life come out. It's like with names. You've probably noticed already that my stories have altogether too many Sam Wilsons and too many Charons: Charon This, Charon That, Charon Whatever. Pretty much every name I use gets repeated over and over or maybe just reappears with small changes. Pak becomes Park. Ryung-Il becomes Ril. Even Starling Prindle bears a remarkable similarity to Aldrin Springlet.
And yet, all the names mean something special to me. There are days when I think I care more about the people I make up than everyone else I meet. But I didn't make up these names. Not in the first place, anyway. I took them from things I read or heard. Things that made me smile or cry or just confused me so much that I couldn't get the names out of my brain. Normal names like the one for the really old man at the bank or the woman at the grocery store with the pink (pink) lips – those kinds of names are completely forgettable. They'll escape my brain as quickly as a Korean firefly in the daytime. In fact, if you sat up in bed right now and told me that your name was Persephone and not Charon, I'd probably forget what you said in five minutes. Six at the most.
No.
Not really.
You know that's not true.
What I'm trying to say is that the names in my stories say something about me, my dear. Even if the person isn't named Starling or Crow or Ril, it doesn't matter. Any name in any story can be different or sound odd or be just plain unbelievable, it doesn't matter. Whatever name comes out of my mouth, the stories I tell you about those people end up being about me. And it's not just true for me. Anytime anyone says they're telling you a story about someone else, don't believe it because they're really talking about themselves. And all the while, they'll sprinkle their stories with just enough lies to hide the truth of who they are. In fact, they are quislings (like me) – the betrayers of those they love.
Now, before I start my next story, I have one question for you about names, my dear one. If you wore a nametag today like Ril did on the first day I first saw her, what would your nametag say? Would it say Charon? Or maybe Persephone? Would you draw a picture in the corner of the tag – maybe a flower or a sleeping cat. Or would you wear it upside down, so people would stare and wonder?
Well, I think mine tag would say something like, "Starling Prindle, still your guide". And if there was extra room on the tag, I hope it would look like this:
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