the donut hole archive (of lake travis) ((essay))

I opened my email to read three untitled documents. I have no idea who sent them and who sent you. But I read every last word. And right now I can see myself in the mirror and I can tell just how absorbed I was. Three outstanding pieces of literature I wish I wrote, and I think that's what hell is like. Hell is teasing me with things that have already been done before, and there's nothing to do to reverse it.

I have a pen pal in South Africa, and she shipped stamps to my front door. I’m going to use these stamps and ship a letter to an old friend from sixth grade. He moved away and lives in Dallas, and I think about him from time to time. When I was a kid, I wanted to be an inventor. And I used to draw. My cat Sammy and I would sit on my grandmother's driveway on a sunny day, and I’d draw whatever was in front of me.

What’s in front of me now are things I can grab and mold and change. I was five years old at The Donut Hole, and I swear I could hear the camera click. Our photo was taken, and I told myself - Olivia, please hang on - Look up and realise what a miracle this is. I know God performs miracles, but at first I couldn't see them. I prayed to see them, to be in awe every day, and now I do.

I got off work and rang my brother unannounced. He picked up and we talked for hours. I said, Gary, those that you come across leave with an impact no one else can make and I tell him that often. I tell him things I know he’ll keep to himself. I feel the breeze on my skin and I am so glad. I share secrets in the field with the cows and the birds, and I am free.