hm-COVER-legs.jpg
IMG_7821brooklyn.JPG
willimantic.jpg
harrys-house (3 of 5).jpg
harrys-house (4 of 5).jpg
hm-COVER-legs.jpg

Hey Harry Hey Matilda


 

a novel.

SCROLL DOWN

Hey Harry Hey Matilda


 

a novel.

Harry and Matilda have a problem.

They're related.

 

"We're Goodmans, Harry. We're addictive by nature. Accept it."

"Matilda, I've made a terrible mistake. It could ruin everything."

"Harry, I'm so sorry. I thought I could fix it."

IMG_7821brooklyn.JPG

Correspondence


 

 

SCROLL DOWN

Correspondence


 

 

Hey Harry,

Where are you? I haven't heard from you lately.  I have a new nightly routine you must know about.:

I sit on the couch with the cat and stare at the canary-yellow projection of “pollo” that comes onto my living room wall from the 24-hour bodega next door. I pretend it’s a personal Barbara Kruger installation telling me to have organic free range chicken fingers for dinner. And then I make some, and I dip them in bbq sauce and they are delicious.

Hey Matilda,

Sorry, I just got back from the Poconos. The Poconos strike me as very jewish, but the experience was goyish. Far too many Utz and Kraft products were being bandied about with no embarrassment. There was a hot tub, however, and some vague intrigue therein –––>

Hey Harry,

That woman looks long like spaghetti. I can't imagine there was a spark.

Hey Matilda,

You dont need to attack the good things in my life just to make yourself feel better. 

Hey Harry,

You're right, I'm so sorry. It's just a girl like that, whom I imagine has a boarding school past and high expectations and a size 25 waist? She doesnt want you long-term. 

Hey Matilda,

Good lord, what is going on with you?!

Hey Harry,

It's my sudden oldness causing me to be horrible, Harry. I need to figure out my life. 35 is a deadline, because the distance between 35 and 50 is essentially two years.

(And by the time you’re 40, your career needs to be established. I remember 55 year olds who would wander into the photography center when I worked there. Starting their life as artists at that age— not good. They smelled of lavender and the Larchmont.)

I should have just told them it was too late, but instead I took their money and pointed them to the color lab. Which is now of course obsolete itself.

Hey Matilda,

We’re not old. It’s all just beginning to crystallize. I look at my students, who are so clueless, and thank God I'm no longer nineteen. Today I had to explain to most of my English Lit I section who Virginia Woolf was. Help me out, High School English teachers! The kids they’re sending me are so half-formed.

Hey Harry,

Give them a break. It takes a long time for humans to understand things.  I mean, I remember when I thought Mondale Ferraro was one person. And I just wanted mom to stop talking about him.

willimantic.jpg

A Shared History


(Theirs had been the best victorian on the hill. Taupe, tasteful, masculine enough.)

SCROLL DOWN

A Shared History


(Theirs had been the best victorian on the hill. Taupe, tasteful, masculine enough.)

Hey Matilda,

One time we went to a wedding. We must have been about seven at the time. I was very interested in transformers, because it was the ‘80s. The wedding took place at an old camp in fall. It was fall but it was hot, and all the guests wandered about the place with brightly colored drinks in hand. I remember this because we were drinking punch, and you kept cackling “Punch me!” and giggling because you’d had an impossible amount of Hi-C. There were big trees clustered closely together and if you looked through them, you could see a lake in the distance, but it didn’t even look like water, it looked like just a shimmer. The trees had enormous roots that were growing above ground and we put the transformers and your pony toys on and around them and tied bandanas among the trees we liked best. We all stayed in little cabins on the property and when we awoke the following day, we walked out into a still balmy field strewn with middle-aged bodies in sundresses and suits. And right there amongst them, sitting and snoring propped up on a golf cart was dad, Smirnoff bottle still in hand. “I found him!” you yelled, like you’d won a prize, and ran off to tell mom.

Hey Harry,

Oh, I do remember that. It was one of the only times mom dressed us alike— you as a sailor with white hat and blue piping, me in a pinafore. Both in bowl cuts. We were positively a sideshow; all we needed was a dance and we could have taken it on the road! People were much more charmed by twins back then. Now that there’s IVF, it’s all old hat.

harrys-house (3 of 5).jpg

An Uncertain Future


SCROLL DOWN

An Uncertain Future


Hey Matilda,

In the bleak landscape of student poetry that is my life, a bright spot comes: I have a promising student. Her name is Vera and she is from Vermont. Actually, her full name is Vivian Remember Parker-Hall, can you believe that? She’s an interesting mix of free wheeling and proper. Moneyed but of the people.

On the first day of class I handed out a survey with some basic questions on it and she wrote:

 About Me:

“I have two moms, and I survived Exeter boarding school. “Anything is possible!”

Her recent poem was about choosing between having the superhero ability to fly or be invisible. The narrator cannot decide, she is tormented with the choice, and then finally succumbs to a pile of sleeping pills and chooses a timeless nap. It was brilliant though, not overwrought.


Harry,

I don’t understand the idea of the poem, because of course the only choice is TO FLY!!! Jesus, what is wrong with people? And sleeping pills aren’t overwrought?

You’re losing your edge, Harry.


Harry,

 I am going to tell you a secret. For a moment, just a moment, I drove the wrong way on the highway on my way back to New York. It was surreal, like a movie, the car lights all pointing at me, moving fast, hunting me down. I was blinded.

But you know what? I wasn’t scared. I didn’t even feel bad. It was like I was on fire, invigorated. I just calmly pulled over and made a u-turn in the breakdown lane. The sound of cars honking at me as they sped by felt like cheers— like adulation.

I thought: this is it. I am either going to die tonight, or I have truly gone bad. Like Johnny Cash when he was lit like a fucking Christmas tree. That shit is powerful.

When I pulled up in Brooklyn, Amit was standing on the doorstep. Remember him? Our insurance friend? Freddy Mercury? He was looking for Nate, but I know he was glad he saw me first. I said something to him I shan’t repeat in polite company.

We went back to his place, and had RESPLENDENT relations. I was dizzy the whole time and we stayed up all night and listened to Bohemian Rhapsody over and over and over. What do you think about that, Harry?

 

harrys-house (4 of 5).jpg

Follow on Instagram


SCROLL DOWN

Follow on Instagram


Read along with Harry and Matilda this year on Instagram.