Dear Andi

He felt the world had gone mad somewhere, somehow. It was hot today, and the horse flies were biting. But, it seemed it was always hot now. And when it wasn’t hot, it was a hurricane, or tornado, or rabid bat migration or unforseen proportions. He had dreamt last night, and he usually didn’t. This was something he would bring up at long expired dinner conversations to a response of, ‘well, you just don’t remember them.’ He’d always casually agree, but suddenly and silently disagree. He never dreamt, he was sure of it. That’s why last night meant so much, because she was there. Andi: five foot three, slender with flamboyant -natural- red hair. She was smiling. It was the honest smile the same way he remembered it. They were on the mountainside that he had taken her camping all those years ago and the sun was setting. The cacti around cast a calm shadow and the breeze blew steady. They hugged.

In that dream, hugging Andi, he’d felt more okay than he had in many, many years. Nothing was the same now.

It was late August and ferociously hot. The ancient old man made his way to his desk in his modest portugees farmhouse. He took out a pen, a free one from the bank he banked at, and he began to write:

Hey you,

Do you remember that time, after our junior college psychology class, that we hiked up the tallest mountain in Gilroy to watch the sunset? I bought a liter of coca cola for hydration and you brought weed for sustenance. We talked about a lot of things, but now all these years later, I can only remember how I told you about how scared I was to leave. I was heading to Europe then for work. Do you remember that time at your dad's house on Christmas? Damn, if I think hard enough I may be able to remember the year… 2002 was it? Us and your family plowed through all three bottles of wine that I had brought. Towards the end of the night, I broke the news to you all. I was leaving again. To Colombia this time. This time, it wasn’t for work. This time I was running.

I think I loved you then Andi. I’m sorry that it has taken eighty years to tell you this. I wonder now how you are. I wonder if you’re still out there…(?) Have you gotten along okay(?)

There aren’t many of us around now. Old timers. People who can remember the days before the internet. Before cell phones and instagram and facebook. Before the weather turned to eternal hell. Do you remember when facts, truth and science had meaning?

Ah, shit Mountain Mama - do you remember when I used to call you that- I had better stop this letter before I start to sound like a grumpy old man.

I know you're out there. I’ve seen your recent pictures online. I’m still out here too. I’m doing okay. I’m old now.

I still love you, to be perfectly honest. I know I wronged you, but I always loved you. The days are getting shorter and harder for both of us. What do you say we rally together for a bucket list escapade?

I know now, us both nearing 100, that our bucket list may be harshly skewed from the dreams we held at 20. Still, I’m spunky, and still young somewhere deep down below.

Want to laugh so hard that we cry? I know that’s corny, but I haven’t done that in decades. How about we each dedicate 5,000 dollars to scratch off tickets? Remember how I always said I would eventually win big on those? Well, I haven’t so far, but I’m still hopeful. Want to get a cheap bottle of vodka and get really drunk one last time? We can wake up like teenagers - both nauseous and shocked at the truths we told each other…

Does it sound like I’m clutching at youth? Perhaps I am. But for god's sake - I am ninety eight years old now Mountain mama- memories of youth are what keep me going.

I am sure youth have some of your own that you haven't lived yet, or that you want to relive.

What do you say? The world is going to hell, and we are both dying. Let’s ride this out like they do in the movies old friend.

Love, Red Tiger

The old let the tears fall. He knew the end was near. He knew that he’d never see the Mountain Mama again. At least not the one he’d left all those years ago.

Everything had gone bad, somewhere, somehow along the way. People had either submitted to the digital life or faded away.

There were no more coffee shops or restaurants. Robiots brought food to your door. Shopping was done on a computer. Even dates were held online.

The old man was a dying breed. The last of the human species who held memories of the old world. A better world.