It's day one of my 7-day writing course with Cole Schafer. Each day we receive a prompt and then have 55 minutes to write, edit, and post to a platform of our choosing. Today's prompt is: Think about what you're superstitious of, then describe in great detail.
At first, it warmed my heart to see my grandmother's email address in my inbox—the only person I ever knew with a "cox.net" account. The enthusiasm of the subject lines, "FWD: AWESOME DOES NOT COVER THIS."
Inside was a scrolling montage of random photos including a peacock-shaped flower sculpture, a moss-covered cliffscape that jutted out into the form of a unicorn head. A roller coaster of people going into a water tunnel, and my personal favorite, a baby inside a doorway inside of a doorway inside of a doorway...
At the bottom of this digital acid trip was one request, "Don't break the chain!!! Forward to 10 friends for good luck."
Each week, the subject lines of these chain emails increased in absurdity and urgency, "FWD: THIS IS POWERFUL AND SO TRUE," or "FWD! I did."
Inside one was a picture of Mickey and Minnie Mouse holding hands in a Disney forest with the caption, "YOU HAVE 20 MINUTES TO TELL 10 FAMILY/FRIENDS THAT YOU LOVE THEM (INCLUDING ME) SO, I LOVE YOU! GO!"
But my favorite was, "FWD: JUST SOMETHING TO ENJOY." The email had been forwarded so many times there was a scrolling commentary to traverse before finally reaching the forwarded YouTube video titled, "Winners of the 2012 Junior Division National Carolina Shag Dancing Championships."
My grandmother's caption read, "That young guy has more moves than a Chinese checker tournament. Please share with 5 friends."
TBH, I always did forward these chain emails from my Mimi and felt terrible for the same 10 email addresses that I, in turn, always spammed. The guilt I'd feel when thinking of the sheer possibility of letting her down. I could see her sitting alone at her desk in the sun room. Her two-story colonial in Williamsburg, VA. was perched perfectly so she could watch life happening around her. I thought of her drafting a list of potential emails that might be able to fill this quota. Did she even know 15 people with email addresses? Did it still count if it was the same person but with multiple emails? And what if the recipient had died? Did the send still count?
I imagine her looking longingly out at her magnolia trees, then begrudgingly shifting her gaze to her neighbor's lawn, the one on the right. He's the guy who trims her hedges far shorter than appreciated. She wonders when he might remove the eyesores that have taken up residence on his front porch like the multi-colored Christmas lights and hap-hazard skeleton hanging since Halloween, the broken refrigerator, the rusty swingset, and possibly, the obnoxious children that go with it...
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