Date: Mon, 13 May 2002
Subject:…um… “hello”
From: berto_alto@tank20.com
To: You
Dated this day, May the . . . probably about . . .
*stares at stars, counts on fingers
carry the two . . . about May the 13th, right?
Dear . . . you,
. . . er . . .
remember me
question mark
nervous cough
. . . um . . .
smile
I have a good excuse for why I haven’t written you.
You knew I got transferred, right?
Well, it turns out that I really got transferred!
My Good Excuse
My new job sucks.
Here’s what I did at work this morning.
I dressed up like a late medieval knight,
got on a late medieval horse
and rode down a late medieval canyon
in the late medieval Alps,
through the late medieval snow
with the other forty-four people
from our business unit
Here’s a Typical Afternoon
I mean, OK this afternoon —-
We’re all descending
single file
and we’ve all got hike-brain
—- we’re spaced, hypnotized —-
we stopped singing a loooong time ago
we’re hearing nothing but mule grunts
the tinkle of chain mail
and the rattle of mortar shell cases
When the whisper comes back up the line
“village”
“village”
“village”
and everyone nervously looks up at the walls of the canyon
for hick town ambushwhackers
who love to rob wandering knights
And Then . . .
. . . we come around the corner
into a village
and the assembled villagers freeze
because
they are in the “middle” of “something”
There Is:
a) a bonfire
b) the men all standing on one side,
the women all standing on the other
c) four rabbits
tied to four stakes
wearing tiny wedding gowns
d) a ceremonial altar
e) a naked old man
in a mountain goat headdress
with a shiny hatchet in his hand
f) an incredibly incredibly incredibly
incredibly incredibly incredibly incredibly
awkward silence.
Then they shot an arrow at me.
Hi there
“Ta-da.”
. . . so anyway, um . . .
Hi there.
I’ll bet you didn’t think you’d be hearing from me again.
But here I am.
smile
In a mildewy wool tent
In the dark
On this forbidden secret laptop computer
my buddy Skip got through his “connections”
(we are in deep shit if anyone catches us)
LOL
In what will some day be called the Italian Alps
In the year 1368
pause
I got transferred Overseas and Overtime
And we’re not supposed to have e-mail.
that’s my excuse
smiles
It’s good to see you again.
Now, for the Important Stuff
For the last 24 hours
all I’ve been thinking about is
“What am I going to tell her when I get
my 15 minutes on the laptop?
(we all have to share this computer
and everyone’s dying to write home)
And I’ve been thinking about
your reaction
when this shows up
in your e-mail inbox . . .
REACTION A: Bert who?
REACTION B: Oh crap! That little fling I had is back to haunt me?
REACTION C: Yipes, a stalker!
or . . . perhaps . . .
REACTION Z: How nice to hear from Bert . . .
So I have to ask
. . . ahem . . .
Do you Still Like Me?
I . . . um . . . really enjoyed our few days (and nights) together
blushes
looks at the ground
and I’ve been thinking about you
NOTE: Thinking about you in a balanced, normal,
not-weird, non-stalkerish, rather-sweet kind of way
clears throat
My Hope
and I’ve rather been hoping
musters courage
that you are un-otherwise-romantically-involved
and might want to . . . um . . . see me
when I get back to the 21st century in June
from my idiotic tour of duty in the past
Full Disclosure
Just so you know . . .
I haven’t met anyone special back here.
Especially given that she’d be 600+ years old
when I get back to 2002
. . . anyway . .
Whew! There! I said all the hard stuff!
Here’s What the Poster On the Wall
of the Coffee Room
at My Old Position Said
“Transfer to the Renaissance for a Year.
Enjoy History First-Hand”
Here’s What I Say
Bull-shit.
Renaissance, Schmenaissance!
A.D. 1368 is the Dark Fucking Ages!
(at least up here in the mountains)
Honestly.
It’s the Late Medieval Era at best!
Here’s What We Do
When Late Medieval Hicks
Shoot Arrows at Us
Regine says “Pull”!
and Julio throws something up in the air
like a water jug
and Sharpshooter Sue
(former skeet champion)
goes Kaboom with one of the automatic rifles
we brought with us from the future
and the water jug disintegrates
It worked great this morning
Impressed the villagers
and they let us stay here
south of town
Here’s What Our Captain, Regine
Wants People to Call us
The Witch’s Company
Here’s What People Back Here
Actually Call Us
The Blue Company
The Blind Company
Northern Lances
Dijon Lances
The Company of Eight
(eight? where do they get this shit?)
This is a big problem
because I’m The Marketing Guy
and I’m responsible for the Brand Identity
of our stupid little fighting force
It means more work for me
We’re Terrible
As we were tiptoeing out of the village square
so they could continue
whatever [the hell] they were doing
Skip gets a hungry look on his face
and says to me:
“Say folks . . . are you gonna be eatin’
those rabbits? ‘Cause, if not . . .”
We’re terrible.
Now It’s Dark
. . . and our tents are up
and our fires are lit
and Cookie made us boiled millet balls
again
bleccch!
AND I HAVE A MILLION THINGS TO TELL YOU
— like how I’m going to get to meet the poet Petrarch
(my hero)
— and about the Quixote Boys, and Goth Kids, and Civil War Nerds
who make up the ridiculous daily costume drama of our company
— and about my Roman antiquities collection I can’t bring back
(not that I’m trying to entice you
to REPLY to me, or anything)
but I have to give up the laptop now
Write Back Only if You Want To
tell me how you’re doing, what’s been going on
hoping against hope
no pressure
fingers crossed
under his breath “please, please, please, please, please”
Having a Blast in the Past,
I am
The Man They Call
Berto Alto
