Miracle Letters of T. Rimberg by Geoff Herbach

Author:Geoff Herbach [Herbach, Geoff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯), Mystery
ISBN: 9780307449634
Publisher: Crown
Published: 2008-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

T. Rimberg

Letter 35

September 26, 2004

* * *

Dear Uncle Jim (or the Owner of Uncle Jim's Pizza), Madison, Wisconsin,

Hello. I'm very tired. I slept under a bridge in Paris next to the Seine, just for a couple of hours, I'm sure. I'm not going to be alive much longer, but had to write this. This is my last apology.

In October of 1992 I'd thought I'd found my calling. I went door to door for WISPIRG, the Wisconsin Public Interest Research Group, raising money to save the wetlands. Although I'd struggled to raise a cent in Rush Limbaugh suburbs, where they called me a tree hugger and feminazi, I'd learned I could talk college students into giving up a portion of their beer money very easily. I set records for the organization in student neighborhoods, and I became terribly arrogant about my abilities.

I believed that I knew what I believed in: saving the wetlands. And I thought, the ends justify the means. Saving the wetlands might mean I'd have to talk about music with punks or Vespas with Mods or football with jocks or counterpoint in Bach with geeky cello players or vandalism with vandals or my hatred of FIBs (fucking Illinois bastards) with rednecks from northern Wisconsin. I really loved talking rednecks into giving money for the environment. I could lie and say FIBs were destroying Wisconsin floodplains with their summer homes. I could also say that hunters helped the environment by facilitating the circle of life.

As long as I raised money, I'd tell the students whatever they wanted to hear. The fact is, I didn't believe in saving the wetlands. I believed in being loved, being a superstar, winning. I believed in believing in something and making it happen. Integrity.

One night I went to a house full of rednecks to ask them to donate money. I talked a lot about FIBs and hunting and snowmobiles with them. They loved me and said they'd put out the money, but only if I came back later to drink at their keg party.

I was training another canvasser that night by the name of Hannah Garrity. She was from Chicago but didn't seem to mind me calling a FIB a FIB. She told me, after having two beers at the rednecks' apartment, that I reminded her of Bill Clinton, because I could talk to all kinds of people about what mattered to them. Three houses later, we took shots of vodka to get some Mod kids to contribute money. They gave us $35. Outside that house, I told Hannah Garrity about how I had integrity, and then I kissed her. Power is sexy and I was drunk. She didn't know my soon-to-be-wife Mary was back in my apartment wondering if her Braxton Hicks contractions were real contractions.

By nine, at the end of the shift, Hannah and I were really drunk and we both thought it'd be fine to keep the money we'd raised in my bag overnight, and we walked toward the redneck kegger arm in arm.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.