Learn From It: Postcards from the Rehg

So I decided to reread Angels in America. Today I finished Part One, Millenium Approaches. I was on Caltrain heading home. I put the book back in my backpack and took out Part Two, Perestroika.

I was already twenty or so pages into it when my phone went off. I answered the text-message and picked the book back up. Hmmm, the book was stiffer than a regular paperback, especially one so slim. I flipped through the pages and discovered the reason: a postcard. A postcard of St. Thomas.

A postcard signed “Love, Jeff & Allen”. A postcard from 1994.

Good lord. As if it's not already to the point that I'm so spooked by Angels that I sometimes hear words in the humming and thrumming of everyday things.

Conventional explanations are within ready reach: I last read the book while on St. Thomas. I last opened it when reading it. I wrote the postcard while in St. Thomas, but failed (obviously) to mail it. I mean, I knew at the time that I wouldn't mail it from St. Thomas (I knew me well enough to know I would have put it off) and the text of it, addressed to Flea and Stork—and prophetically without an address!—says as much.

Flea and Stork don't read this blog. I wonder if I should fill in the address and send it to them. I don't know if it would freak them out or whether they'd get a chuckle out of it, or whether they would simply be pensive and reflective for a bit.

A lot has changed in eleven years. The big things regular readers already know. But smaller things! I ~~don't use~~ use fewer exclamation points (hey, I was newly uncloseted to friends and nervous, or I was tired. Oh, poo, whatever). Flea and Stork now live just up the hill...

Anyhow, I scanned the postcard. I'm still a bit wonky over discovering it—just like I once discovered a plane ticket of Allen's in another book which had overlapped a story of his from years before which I'd happened to be thinking of.

Like I said, a bit spooked.