20 Apr

The news came in a weird anonymous manner of mail shoved under the door by dark loafers, which placed much stress on the wood planks of the floor just outside. He had another kid named Henry. Only this Henry was Henry so and so. Born at such and such hospital at oh-three-hundred hours (or maybe a few minutes past) in a Cesarean section, which had complications. In the end, everyone pulled through. The first one they call Hank now. For short. He’s somewhere around four or five. It was a proper announcement, one of them fancy papers stamped with black calligraphic font and shoved into a pristine, white envelope with beveled edges surrounding a design in the middle; something resembling a coat of arms enveloped by a bird of prey. Looked like it was penned by one of the founding fathers and printed by Gutenberg.
—You gonna send something? A gift? Money?
I’ve missed events now three years running. Can’t keep up with any of it. Every fucking day is some sort of special day; requires some sort of special card. Every fucking day someone has a baby. Or another baby. And so I don’t send them. The planet spins without.
—His name is Henry.
—I heard.
—Who the hell names both his kids Henry?
—Who the hell knows. People are out of their minds.
—You gonna send something? Seriously. You should. It’s only polite.


2 Responses to “”

  1. Rodger Jacobs 21/04/2009 at 3:45 PM #

    Well, this helps me see the positive side of living in a town where I have absolutely no social connections and zero neighbors in my apartment complex.

    You’re on the money, Alex. When I lived in San Francisco’s North Beach in 2007, living on a bar stool at Vesuvio day after day with more friends than I could poke a stick at (and there were a few I would gladly have poked with a stick) every day was a celebration of somebody’s birthday or publication of their book or a job promotion or a gig at a coffee house poetry reading and … and … and so on and so forth.

    Who in the hell would name both of their kids Henry?

  2. (S)wine 21/04/2009 at 7:44 PM #

    I don’t know. But one’s Hank and the other is not. Or so someone wrote in this thing. I don’t need any more friends.

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