Now is probably the most appropriate time to discuss something I’ve been lumbering over since I began this journey: changing names of those involved in the story. In case you’ve ever wondered all the names are changed from their originals. The naive child in me didn’t want to do this for the sake of honesty and all that is good, but the adult in me decided to protect them.
Also – I really didn’t want to tick someone off and have them sue me and take the $78.31 I have in my savings account.
I mention this now after having met Mary’s son Tom. He happens to work in a position that is very visable – he is in politics. I don’t want to say too much and give him away, so I’ll just say this: I’m not someone who stays very current with the nation’s politics, and I recognized him. So there you go – let your mind have fun picturing whomever you’d like.
Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get to what happened.
Tom, Joyce, and I spent all afternoon talking (I took mad notes – of which I haven’t looked through yet, so I hope I don’t jumble what I’m about to tell you). Tom and Joyce spoke for a while sharing stories and such, then Tom sort of interrogated (maybe poor choice of word) me. He wanted to know why I was involved with his family at all. I’m not sure if he believed me when I told him about the letter, but he stayed and talked for several hours.
Earlier this year he received a phone call from a storage rental unit that had been prepaid for many years. It had boxes and boxes of his mother’s (Mary) Stuff, mostly letters and papers. He had all the boxes moved to his house and began looking through some old medical papers. BOMBSHELL ALERT, Please be seated. Here it is – Apparently Old man Moskowitz was sterile. That means he isn’t Tom’s father. Then we all talked about who the other men that Mary’s mom prostituted her out to might’ve been (they talked – I listened). After I made us all some coffee there was this moment of silence where we all just sort of looked at each other and I’m not sure who said it first, but we all questioned what if Artie’s is Tom’s father?
Thomas R. T. Wilson – ‘Tom,’ it at least makes one wonder. Although it’s probably more likely that Mary named her son after Artie, but still one wonders.
Around 6p Tom’s driver reminded him of some meeting or commitment, an off they went. I stayed at Joyce’s for a little while longer and then off to bed in the woods.
In case I haven’t mentioned it as of yet – the woods can be a scary place to this here a-dult. There’s a few spots where I’ve pulled the van off the road and parked, only to find myself lost upon waking up. Once I spent an hour and a half getting lost and re-lost, over and over. All the two tracks look the same when they don’t have specific landmarks. I finally deicided to cut up my red t-shirt into strips and hand them on branches overhanging the by-ways as I tried them. As you can tell – it eventually worked.
Until tomorrow – May the wind whisper your name on the hearts of others,
peace.
