Dear Remembered.

When I was young — junior high? younger? — I would lie in bed at night & listen to AM talk radio where people would call in from all over the country with questions. I was twelve years old & fascinated by people’s stories & especially, o especially, by where people lived.

“This is Jenny from Missoula, and I wanted to ask about performance anxiety. I play the cello and …”

My bedroom had blue floral padded wallpaper, my bed was a white wrought iron, & my clock radio (fake plastic trees) was set to AM 920, which invited the whole United States into my space.

Also, I had shutters. No one else in the house had shutters but me. & I obsessed over their matching aesthetics: open & folded or closed & latched, but never a combination of the two.

Dear Remembered.

I totally forgot all about this until like four minutes ago. Also precisely nothing happened four minutes ago to jar this memory.

Anyway, what twelve year old listens to AM talk radio at midnight with her shutters either all opened or all closed, depending on her level of paranoia or the brightness of the moon?

Also, do you know how bright the moon was down in Arkansas?