“You did *what* to your hair?”
“I dyed it. Black. Like the witches do.”
“Witches? Doo?”
“Yeah. Like, you know, Hazel, ha ha.”
“*Never* joke about that name, Shelley,” I reprimanded. First communicating with the wrong Day earlier in the day, then this. Day 02 I suppose.
“Oh, Father. You’re so… *backwaters*.”
“Backwaters?” I questioned again.
“Yeah, you know. In the sticks. Backwaters. It’s what all the hip kids are saying about old people stuff like that. Kind of a continuation of backwards — more your style of word.”
“And I suppose this has something to do with that New Island you’ve been hanging around lately. With, who is it, Eddy?”
“Edward.” My Eddy, she thinks, her old boyfriend and new husband in one. We need to go back to the top of Mt. Sandraman next, maybe have a picnic up there and take in the view and see where we are in our relationship… to the island. The villa we had our eye on is still unavailable to our disappointment. Many things are gone from the island we knew, she laments. But one object has remained stable down through the years now. The *exit* from Pipewold at 241 121 MacMorris. Just like Opp went through many years ago, entering as a boy but coming out a full blown man. And then what Mabel rediscovered when she visited the island later. It’s just like with the Indians. A proposed 2fer1 (241) by the damned invading white people for land division. Wouldn’t work then and won’t work now. The entrance is gone and that’s how you get in. You can’t go in through the out door. One way.
“Well,” I say to break the long long silence while Shelley pondered away. “Call us when you can.” We both hang up.
Sunklands 