by jkatejohnston

22 July 2014

Dear Max,

We went to Raging Waters, a waterslide park. I didn’t want to go on the purple slide because it’s an enclosed tube.

Enzo: “It’s like hurtling through death-defying blackness going into your body.”

Me: “I thought you were trying to persuade me. You’re trying to scared me.”

Enzo: “I’m preparing you for the worst, and hoping you for the best.”

I went on the slide. Never again.

Enzo went on a ride called the Honolulu Half Pipe, which there was no way I was going to go on, so he went by himself, up the stairs with his tube, up and up and up. He looked extremely small. I watched from below, hoping he’d turn around and just come back down. Then he was at the top, and he went. It didn’t look fun. He looked intensely concerned. Afterward Teresa asked him how he felt just before it was his turn to go. “I was pale.”


“Duncan’s like a living fur coat—with feelings.”


Enzo wanted to play checkers, but it was time to read.

“Have you ever played checkers with yourself?”

“Yeah. I creamed him. But I cheated.”


I have no context for the following note except that I must have said something like, “I think they might be broken.”

“If they are, we’ll throw them away, muttering, ‘They’re useless!’”


Me: “This plant doesn’t have one single tomato on it.”

Enzo: “Kill it.”


“I just invented two new ways of running.”


Various styles for jumping into the pool: “The jackknife, the cannonball, the rocket ship, the potato and the pregnant watermelon.”