The Parrot Cages
By Christina Hoag
From SimonFarber87@maileroo.com
To: Astrid.Larson@MiamiStar.com
Subject: Inquiry
Thursday 11:11 a.m.
Hi. Would you be the Astrid Larson who was a reporter at the Jersey Tribune in the 80s? Simon Farber
11:49 a.m.
Simon! How long has it been? What’re you doing these days? A
12:14 p.m.
Eighteen years! I figured it was you but wasn’t sure. I Googled you and your byline popped up from South America. I don’t remember you speaking Spanish. I’m chief public information officer for the N.J. Attorney General. Married, two kids, two parrots, house in the Trenton ‘burbs, mini-van, Saturday soccer coach. You? Simon
1:07 p.m.
Yeah, I was about twenty-five when we were together. I’ve been at the Miami Star nine years. I was the Latin America correspondent. The journalism was great: mudslides, coups, guerrillas, but the novelty wore off so back to Miami. Why did you leave reporting? A
1:10 p.m.
I’m impressed at what you’ve done, and envious. I wish I’d done something adventurous, and you made it to a major metro daily. My reporting career? Ouch. I couldn’t get on a big paper. I worked at a trade magazine, then moved to flacking. It pays the bills. I’m writing a novel, though. Simon
3:16 p.m.
I think the last time we were in touch you called to tell me you were marrying the old flame from Brown that you dumped me for. A P.S. I’m writing a novel, too!
3:25 p.m.
Yeah, I married Moira. She’s a nurse for a plastic surgeon. How about you? Are you on deadline? Simon
4:16 p.m.
Divorced. I’m waiting for callbacks. Emailing makes me look busy when editors walk by. I was staring out the window at Biscayne Bay. Dolphins and manatees occasionally surface. A
4:23 p.m.
You got me beat. My view is downtown Trenton’s state office blocks. I have a staff of two dimwits who handle routine media inquiries. I approve press releases and handle the big stuff like responding to investigative exposes, things requiring strategic spin. But these ninnies want direction on everything. “Simon, what do I say about an inmate lawsuit against a deputy AG?” I personally pinned a list of all the “no comment” situations above their desks: No. 1, lawsuits. Simon
4:28 p.m.
The frustrations of a spinmeister, but I bet you earn six figures. Let me guess: your nameplate is on your door, pictures of Moira and the kids on your wood laminate desk, diploma on the wall, newspapers piled on the floor? A
5:12 p.m.
Almost, smarty-pants. No pictures of Moira, but plenty of my kids. Here’s a picture of them. Abby’s a freshman. Jason’s in seventh grade. I’m getting ready to leave. The parrot cage awaits. Each kid has one, but guess who cleans the cage? What are you working on? Simon
5:15 p.m.
Old newspapers make great birdcage liner.
Jason’s got your high forehead, dark hair, blue eyes. Abby’s got your beanstalk build.
The story is on this chemical company dumping toxic waste. I’m waiting for the response from your Florida counterpart. What’s it like working on the other side from reporters? A
7:21 p.m.
Good story for you, not for the AG. Sunday front page? When you’re on the inside of a story, things are always blown out of proportion, taken out of context. Simon
8:13 p.m.
Yep, Sunday. This is the AG’s statement: “We aggressively investigate any environmental hazard and prosecute to the fullest extent of the law.” I’m sure you write this florid prose every day. A
11:10 p.m.
I have this enduring image of you in the Tribune parking lot, standing next to your gross green VW bug. It was windy, and you were fighting strands of foot-long hair flying into your mouth. The sun was backlighting your red hair. You were laughing that hearty guffaw. Simon
11:15 p.m.
That was a great car! 163,000 miles. I have no recollection of that, were we going somewhere? My enduring image: You striding through the newsroom, preppy in your granny glasses, Oxford shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, khakis, hair neatly side-parted, brow puckered. You’d throw yourself in your chair and launch into a tirade about how your story had been chopped or changed. A
11:18 p.m.
Those editors were idiots, as editors invariably are. The metro editor used to snarl at us to “keep it down,” we’d be laughing so loudly. The camaraderie was the best thing about that shitty newspaper. Do you still have long hair? Simon
11:19 p.m.
Mid-back, easier to manage in the wind. We had a good time, even though we only made $225 a week. A
11:21 p.m.
It was the happiest time of my life. I loved railing against editors as a know-it-all 25-year-old. It’s not as fun being a boss. Simon
11:22 p.m.
It was more fun then, because now we know how many answers we don’t have. It’s past my bedtime. Night, Simon. A
11:23 p.m.
Good night, Astrid.
Friday, 6:03 a.m.
Up yet? I’ve already read the Times and Journal, got a couple pages down on the novel. I’m on the fifth draft. An espionage thriller. Yours? Simon
6:46 a.m.
I’m in my kimono, bed-haired, sipping a demi-tasse of espresso as I sit in front of the laptop on the dining table. My novel: A coup in a Latin country. First draft. A
8:17 a.m.
What happened with your marriage? You haven’t mentioned it. Simon
9:26 a.m.
I was married for four years to an alcoholic lawyer. I didn’t take his boozing seriously at first, but he got worse and worse. I had to bail him out on a DUI, take him to ER when he cracked his head open. He totaled my car, slammed my head into a window, blamed me for everything. He tried AA but relapsed twice. I was a wreck, could barely work. My editor threatened to put me on probation. That’s when I knew I was on a sinking ship. I moved out, worked myself out of the doghouse and went a-foreign corresponding. A
9:42 a.m.
What a nightmare. I’m sorry. Simon
9:58 a.m.
I’ve put it behind me. Steve dried out in rehab, moved to Arizona. Now he’s getting remarried to an old girlfriend! Story of my life! Editor’s bugging me for this story. This emailing is distracting! What’s up with you? A
10:48 a.m.
I couldn’t concentrate in my meeting. The AG asked me twice if anything was wrong.
I’ve had such a sheltered existence compared to you. You’ve had a lot of action, drama, Life. Big mob indictment today after a yearlong investigation. AG wants a press availability at 2:30. Simon
12:32 p.m.
Actually, I’m envious of YOU. A nice family, stable relationship, life partner. That has eluded me. Everything in life comes with a price. A
1:15 p.m.
Boyfriend? Simon
2:17 p.m.
Nope. I kinda like it that way. A
4:07 p.m.
Afraid of another Steve? Simon
4:30 p.m.
Maybe. I figure I’m through with all that. How was the presser? A
4:34 p.m.
TV showed up so the AG was happy. How’s the story coming? Simon
5:12 p.m.
Funny. I remember how you used to ream out flacks! The edit did minimal damage. It’s being lawyered, so I’m stuck here a while. I love the newsroom at night, the furious clacking of keyboards as deadline approaches. A
6:43 p.m.
I’m chauffeuring Abby and her friends to get pizza. My life as unpaid taxi driver. My favorite newspaper moment: getting the first edition in the pressroom, ink still damp, right off the press. Simon
6:45 p.m.
Me, too. I love the thunderous whirring of the presses as they spew out thousands of papers; the acrid smell of ink, the newspaper bundles tossed into the trucks over the yells of the dispatcher; the flare of the trucks’ red tail lights before they melt into the darkness. And the knowledge that hundreds of thousands of people will be reading my work. It’s a helluva charge. Online newspapers just ain’t the same.
7:33 p.m.
I just dropped a gaggle of giggling teens at the pizza place. What’s your favorite Shakespeare play, movie, color, author, book, actor, dog?
7:42 p.m.
Othello, Casablanca, orange, Greene, Grapes of Wrath, DiCaprio, setter. You? A
7:46 p.m.
Macbeth, The Hustler, blue, Vonnegut, For Whom the Bell Tolls, Hoffman, lab. You still at work? Simon
8:13 p.m.
Guess what? My editor just asked me if I wanted to go to New York next week to interview some CEO! A
8:23 p.m.
Fantastic!! We’ll have dinner. Got to pick up kids now. Simon
9:01 p.m.
I always got the impression you thought I was kinda too crazy for you. A
11:41 p.m.
I really dug your nuttiness. You were a free spirit, always dramatic. It doesn’t surprise me you were a foreign correspondent, seems the kind of thing you would do. I’ve thought a lot about you over the years, wondering what happened to you. Simon P.S. I couldn’t sleep so I came down to the den.
11:44 p.m.
Me neither. I’m in bed with my laptop. I have a confession to make. A
P.S. Is that place still on 2nd and 7th, where we used to go in the wee hours? The windows would steam up in the winter, and you’d write funny things in the condensation.
11:45 p.m.
Still there. It’s where I introduced you to blintzes. Let’s have dinner there for old time’s sake! A confession? Simon
11:49 p.m.
Here goes (deep breath). (So embarrassing) A bunch of us were at the Shamrock after you’d told me you’d refound Moira. I was shitfaced and kept saying, “Why can’t we keep going like before?” as in trysts at your place. I grabbed your arm and you shrugged me off. Dave Tremaine told me to leave off, that you’d moved on. That’s the only time in my life I ran after a guy. Here’s a photo of me in Bangkok last year. Went backpacking for three weeks in Asia. Send me a pic of you. A
Saturday, 12:00 a.m.
I don’t remember that, but I was really into you. You look the same, the pert, freckled nose, big green eyes. Here’s a pic of me, less hair than you’ll remember. I’d love to travel to exotic places, but Europe is all Moira can handle. We’ve been to London, Paris, Rome. We’re going to Switzerland this year. I’m booking the hotel for August now. Simon
12:14 a.m.
You’re as handsome as I remember. I was surprised you got married so quickly, but hey.
You’re booking the hotel five months in advance! I never reserve a hotel. I land, pick a place from Lonely Planet and grab a taxi. A
12:17 a.m.
I emailed Moira my latest chapter three weeks ago. No response, so I emailed her to ask her if she’d read it. Still no answer. Simon
12:20 a.m.
You email your wife? A
12:24 a.m.
We’re busy with kids, jobs. She thinks writing is a waste of time. She rolls her eyes and calls me the “great American novelist.” I mock her golfing. Simon
12:30 a.m.
Nothing like an unsupportive spouse. I felt lonelier in my marriage than I do by myself. Do yourself a favor, just ask her. Better get some sleep. Landscaper’s coming to trim palm trees. Night. A
12:31 a.m.
Good night, Astrid.
6:53 a.m.
I’m in the garden. This is how I spend Saturdays. I don’t even remember the last time I did something fun like go out for a drink. A
7:22 a.m.
You mean a soda at McDonald’s? I hear you. The roofer’s here measuring for a new roof. I’m soccer coaching and birthday party chauffeuring today. Moira’s playing golf. Simon
11:02 a.m.
I keep stopping to check my inbox every five mins, and then I ran over the cord. Now gotta go to my weekend hangout, Home Depot, to buy a new one. Homeownership is definitely overrated. A
11:17 a.m.
I’m standing on the soccer sidelines. This dad keeps shaking me on the shoulder every time a kid scores a goal. I’m about to belt him one. Simon
12:01 p.m.
Why are Home Depot cashiers the slowest in world? A
1:32 p.m.
Jason scored the winning goal. We’re celebrating at McDonald’s. Moira will kill me. I’ve sworn him to secrecy. Simon
7:36 p.m.
Finally done with kids. Crisis of the day: Abby had a spat with her best friend because they like the same boy. I’m watching “Before Sunset.” Simon
8:13 p.m.
“Basic Instinct” here. Movies are the closest I get to sex these days. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever do it again. Embarrassing. A
8:32 p.m.
Don’t be embarrassed. I’m in the same boat. Moira’s never in the mood. I’ve asked her to go to counselling but she won’t. I bought sexy lingerie for her birthday and she blew up. She said I really meant she wasn’t sexy, and I was trying to stereotype her in a male fantasy. Remember our soapy showers? Simon
8:46 p.m.
Vaguely. I remember spending the night with you in your Upper West Side apartment and getting up early to head back to Jersey. You had a hairy chest, but I’m not recalling a lot else. I buy lacy lingerie for myself. I wear it when I need a boost. Ever had an affair? A
8:57 p.m.
Does that mean I have too much chest hair? I guess I’m pretty forgettable in the sack. Maybe that’s why Moira’s frigid? I came close to an affair, but I chickened out. I really wrestled with it, though. How much am I supposed to give up for Moira? Should I live in a perpetual state of sexual sacrifice? In a few years, I won’t even be able to get it up. But I couldn’t live with the guilt if cheated. I’m don’t think I’d make the same decision today though. I got a lap dance once at a strip club, but it was nerve-wracking. I was paranoid someone would recognize me. Simon
9:23 p.m.
You’re still a tad neurotic, but I admire your fidelity. I think you remember more details about our fling because it was your last before you got married. I’ve had more going on in the interceding years. There’s Viagra, by the way. A
P.S. Tell me if I’m right: You feel your life isn’t your own anymore. You run around for others all the time. You work to pay bills. You do little that you enjoy. You feel life is passing you by as you tend to orthodontist appointments and new roofs. You’re capable of a lot more, but don’t know how to get there. You’re playing the game as it’s supposed to be played and where’s the reward? How come others seem to get so much more?
9:46 p.m.
What are you psychic? Simon.
9:52 p.m.
I feel the same way, but I don’t have any answers. Heady conversation. I’m gonna watch my movie. A
9:54 p.m.
I’m going for a walk. Good night, Astrid.
9:55 p.m.
Night, Simon.
Sunday, 5:16 a.m.
I woke up thinking about you. I wish we lived closer. Simon
5:42 a.m.
You were on my mind, too. I feel like I’m teetering on the brink of a precipice. A
5:43 a.m.
I’m already in free-fall. Simon
5:55 a.m.
I’m glad we’re 1,500 miles apart. Otherwise, who knows what would happen. Maybe something both of us would regret. A
6:02 a.m.
I don’t think I’d regret it. I’m having other regrets. Simon
6:04 a.m.
No regrets allowed. A
6:08 a.m.
I think I married the wrong woman. I should have married you. Simon
6:41 a.m.
I wasn’t into getting married back then. You can still make a go of it with Moira. You should try for counselling again. A
6:55 a.m.
I thought about it all night. My life would have really bloomed if I had married you. You would have brought out things in me that I can’t reach by myself. Instead, I settled for someone too safe. Simon
7:01 a.m.
Why the hell did you marry her? A
7:03 a.m.
She was bulimic and needed help. Simon
7:10 a.m.
Now I get it. Shades of codependency. There’s a thing called divorce, by the way. A
7:16 a.m.
Easier said than done. The kids are what makes it worthwhile. Jason hasn’t even started his science project due tomorrow. Guess who’s going to end up doing it? Simon
7:26 a.m.
Happiness only arrives in moments. It’s hard to deal with that. Especially when you hit middle age, and the horizon shrinks. When you’re young, the horizon is infinite – that’s what makes the monotony of daily living bearable. You know you can break the monotony at any time with few consequences. But when you hit the age where you’ve become ensnared by your decisions, life becomes a real fucking letdown. A
7:37 a.m.
What else is there once you realize you’ve hit a wall in your career, turned your life over to your kids, saddled yourself with a mortgage and a spouse you don’t like? My novel is my big “out.” I keep rewriting because I’m scared to finish it. Then what the hell would I do? Simon
7:36 p.m.
Why do we do less and less of the things we enjoy as we get older? I used to love dancing, bowling. Haven’t done those things in years. What happened to just plain fun? A
9:21 p.m.
Kids and science projects. Simon
9:24 p.m.
Roofs and lawns. Night, Simon.
9:26 p.m.
Good night, Astrid.
Monday, 9:01 a.m.
I asked Moira this morning about my chapter. She said she never got it or my follow-up email. I guess I believe her. Emails can go astray. Are you coming to NY? Simon
9:48 a.m.
I’m pushing for Thursday. Gotta write a follow-up on my toxic waste story. Environmental groups want an investigation. Glad you cleared that up with Moira. A.
10:31 a.m.
Sounds like a prize-winner. Simon
4:28 p.m.
Interview is on for Thursday! Can’t wait to see you. A
5:01 p.m.
You’ve made my day! Where are you staying? Simon
5:21 p.m.
Times Square Marriott. You sure you’ll be able to meet me? What will you tell Moira? A
7:34 p.m.
The truth, I’m meeting an old reporter friend. I could stay the night, say I have a conference or a breakfast meeting. Simon
9:17 p.m.
I really hadn’t thought about that. A
10:59 p.m.
Have you ever realized how sexy the word “cup” is? CUP CUP CUP CUP CUP CUP Simon
11:16 p.m.
You crack me CUP! Night, Simon.
11:18 p.m.
Good night, Astrid.
Tuesday, 6:46 a.m.
Two days to go! If you go to New York a couple times a year and I’m sure I could find an excuse to visit Miami, we could see each other quite a bit. Simon
6:57 a.m.
Do we really want to take this step? I mean, I’d love to, but the circumstances. A
10:03 a.m.
Both the dimwits are out today so I have to field all the media calls. How’s your day? Simon
10:32 a.m.
You’re avoiding the question. A
10:35 a.m.
I know. Simon
10:40 a.m.
If we take this step, you’ll end up leaving me for Moira, again. Here’s the big question: would you ever consider leaving Moira? A
12:05 p.m.
I have considered it. Simon
12:06 p.m.
And??? A
12:07 p.m.
The kids. Simon
12:08 p.m.
But if you lived close by, had joint custody? A
12:09 p.m.
I’d miss a huge part of their growing up. I couldn’t do it. Not to mention the financial hit. Simon
12:10 p.m.
Admirable, although you’re sacrificing your happiness or are you afraid? A
12:13 p.m.
I admit I’m a coward. It would be an upheaval and messy. It’s a lot to ask. Simon
12:15 p.m.
I’m not asking you to do anything. Asking me to be the other woman is a lot to ask. If we go ahead with this, we’ll both feel guilty no matter how much we try to justify it. A
4:03 p.m.
Cancelled the trip. Gonna do the interview by phone. A
4:14 p.m.
Whaaaaa?? Please, Astrid. Simon
5:21 p.m.
It’s for the best. A
5:32 p.m.
I’m going home. The parrot cage needs cleaning. Simon
8:18 p.m.
Astrid, please come! I’m dying to see you. I’m sorry I got carried away. I was just thinking of myself. We’ll just have dinner, as friends. Simon
Thursday, 3:26 a.m.
I’m dying to see you, too. But an alarm is clanging in my head. A
4:31 a.m.
Of course, you’re absolutely right! Why can’t you make the wrong decision for once? Like me. Simon
5:03 a.m.
I’ve made plenty of wrong decisions. Don’t beat yourself up. A
8:33 a.m.
You should try one of those internet dating sites. My cousin met his fiancée online. Simon
9:02 a.m.
I dunno. A
9:45 a.m.
You’re gorgeous, smart, interesting, witty, successful. Why are you holding back? Simon
10:02 a.m.
Steve wasn’t the first shitty guy. Maybe that’s all I can get. A
10:37 a.m.
We learn from our mistakes. Unfortunately, I’ve lived in my mistake too long. I’m wondering why I’m letting you go so easily. Simon
11:05 a.m.
Because you’re MARRIED. A
2:12 p.m.
Oh my God, why did you send me these roses?! They’re stunning. Yellow edged with pink. Everybody’s stopping by my desk! Thank you. A
3:17 p.m.
Fuck the roses. I sent them yesterday. Simon
3:19 p.m.
I didn’t mean that. I’m glad I sent them. Really, you should get out there and find someone. Simon
4:10 p.m.
Why am I giving YOU up so easily? A
4:15 p.m.
Because I’m MARRIED. Simon
Friday, 9:13 a.m.
I signed up on cupidsbow.com. A
10:31 a.m.
I feel sick to my stomach. Simon
11:01 a.m.
Me, too. I’m going to stop emailing for a while. A
11:32 a.m.
I don’t want to lose contact with you again! Simon
1:05 p.m.
What’s the point? A
1:10 p.m.
We could be writing partners. Simon
4:54 p.m.
I can’t do it. A
5:03 p.m.
Astrid, don’t go!
Eleven months later
Wednesday, 3:31 p.m.
Hate me? A.
4:37 p.m.
Course not. I kept checking for your emails for weeks though. I even hung out in the Marriott bar that night hoping you’d show. Every time I saw a redhead, I thought it was you. This is uncanny you wrote right now. I have big news. Simon
5:20 p.m.
Had to go cold turkey. I was in a funk for a while, too. A P.S. You were right about online dating.
6:17 p.m.
I went into therapy, and I asked Moira for a separation. She took it better than I thought. Simon
7:01 p.m.
That’s huge! I have big news, too. I’m engaged to a guy I met online. A
11:32 p.m.
Congratulations. I have to go clean the parrot cages. Simon
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Christina Hoag won a prize for writing interesting stories when she was six years old and that’s what she’s been doing ever since. She is the author of novels "Girl on the Brink," named Best of YA by Suspense Magazine, and the noir crime tale "Skin of Tattoos," Silver Falchion Award finalist. A former journalist for the Miami Herald and Associated Press, she reported from Latin America for nearly a decade for major media including Time, Business Week, Financial Times, and The New York Times. Her short stories and essays have been published in numerous literary journals and recently won awards in the International Human Rights Arts Festival Literary Awards and Soul-Making Keats Writing Competition. For more information, see https://christinahoag.com.
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