Sherwood Nation (61 page)

Epilogue

Hey Boyfriend.

So like, Canada, eh? Is there really any other way I can start such a letter?

I made it.

It’s amazing how much time one can spend on like each sentence. The “I made it,” written just there, one line’s worth away, took about a day to compose. Anxiously, hard-worked-at, and then
an unbeli
evable effort with little to show for it in the space after its period. This letter sitting here abandoned hour after hour on this small painted-wood desk. A child’s desk, I think, with its colorful drawers, or perhaps that of a quirky old woman, looking to add a little more color to her life.

Now look, another day’s gone by and already I don’t have the desk to talk about any more, used up as a topic as it is. How can there be so much to tell and yet it cost so much to say?

I am, quite obviously if you’re reading this, a-live, as it were, such as it is. Turns out you do something bold, you make friends and enemies everywhere. You become divisive to ambulance drivers. Your fate debated by nurses. Even army dudes can’t make up their minds among them. In the twisty route from ambulance to hospital to prison I drew a lucky route, and then that route was dusted over.

I wasn’t able to do much for myself for some time. There’s a wicked ache in my shoulder now off and on, just above the heart, and many a time I tell myself it’s the ache for another’s heart, too far away. It’s not a pretty wound, even you wouldn’t think so. i.e. one must try hard to look in the mirror and not say eww . . .

I try to fill my days with something other than remorse, but that’s a difficult thing to do, being the rich game that it is. Sometimes when I sleep, I cycle through the faces, some whose fates I know, and some I don’t. Ach, hope. In this little household up north I have chores, simple things we do to stay alive. Aspects of Sherwood here, adopted from, and talked about much, and for that, in my anonymous little way, I am happy. Though did it really need to cost this many lives to spread these simple things (fuckfuckfuck).

There is some news I have to share.

Damn it. There it is again, a week this time spent in toil in the space after that period above.

Not only am I alive, I’m pregnant.

Surprise!

There. See how easy that is to say? (Not really, I’m sweating bullets here + other salty water-droplet like things from other sources, etc, with no little amount of precipitation). So 2x alive, I guess you could say, which in one letter is probably about 10x too much to reveal to poor you all at once, my sweet. To give you some idea of its origin, we’re estimating I’m about eight months (no small lithe creature am I), and so do your own math there.

Honestly, the remorse and regret thing? It’s the like fifty-something foot wall I’d have to climb prior to hoping to ever speak words to you like: We should meet up! We should totally hang out!

Much less: Do you think she looks more like you or me?

But needless to say, I have been thinking about you a great deal.

Next to this letter here, I’ve put another blank sheet, at the top written: Hey Boyfriend!

You know, get a jump on episode #2.

Bit by bit. Spoonfuls of sand. That’s the best she can do.

yrs,

-r

p.s. Vancouver East Nation, c/o Ariel Boat Builders Residence.

p.p.s. believe me, it was no small feat of endurance to scrawl out that address above. This anonymity a certain—not pleasure, more like the absence of pain. Lost in a connectionless whirlpool, no one to injure but herself. And since delivery of this is in no way certain, I will wait long without expectations. Forever if need be.

This heartrending and inspiring book is about the tragic events that led to the modern concept of community nations, so called for their micro size, and their ability to thrive much more ably under extreme duress. Told to us by Brandon Bartlett, who, before becoming a historian and spokesperson for this new model of government, brought down Sherwood Nation with the help of the National Guard, and then fought a coup d’etat of his own. Read about the historic journey of Maid Marian, and learn about the successes and failures of community nations in the changed landscape of the west.

“What Christopher and Brandon Bartlett (yes, that Bartlett, former mayor of Portland) have done here is nothing short of remarkable. While perfectly depicting the rise of what we now commonly know as the Community Nation, they enrich the reader with a series of guides for making sure your community nation is sustainable and highly functional. I highly enjoyed and unreservedly recommend this book.”—
Zachary Jefferson, inventor of the Unit Gallon and former chief statistician for Sherwood Nation

Acknowledgments

This book started in the anarchic favelas of Rio de Janeiro and finished at a crossroads town in rural Washington state, and many people helped along the way. Were I to be a part of a secession movement, I would certainly want all of the following people along, who were a great help in putting this book together. Members of my writing group who slogged through the earliest versions: Lisa Hoashi, Becky Kluth, Karen Munro, Tammy Lynne Stoner, Laura Larsell, Victoria Blake, and an especial thanks to David Naimon, who provided a sane ear for a truckload of book-anxiety, or mercilessly teased me out of it. John Metta helped me to understand that a drought of this scale is practically impossible in the region I set it, though I pig-headedly continued on anyway. Mel Favara, Jenni Fallein, Melanie Hudson, Marisa Anderson, Andrea Dunne, Bronwyn Barrick, Jan Parzybok, and Ezra Parzybok all helped tremendously by reading drafts of the book. I’m very grateful to my publisher, Gavin J. Grant, for believing in me, and for the enormous number of times he has read and worked on the book, easily winning the prize for the most work put in. The same goes for my agent, Eddie Schneider. A very early beginning was read by the good people of Rio Hondo Writer’s Workshop, and of particular help were Kristin Livdahl, Maureen F. McHugh, and Karen Joy Fowler. Roy and Dottie Moulton were vital, providing space on their land for me to work and trusting I was not frittering away in there playing games on my phone, because I totally wasn’t. Lastly: Laura Moulton, as always, as a co-conspirator, co-adventurer, and for braving that awful granite hunk of a first draft, and my kids, Coen and Sylvie, for indulging me in this madness
.

About the Author

Benjamin Parzybok is the author of the novel
Couch
and a number of short stories. He has been the creator/co-creator of many other projects, including
Gumball Poetry
(literary journal published in capsule machines), the Black Magic Insurance Agency (city-wide, one-night alternate reality game), and Project Hamad (an effort to free a Guantanamo inmate and shed light on habeas corpus). He lives in Portland with the artist Laura Moulton and their two kids. Find him online at levinofearth.com.

Praise for Benjamin Parzybok’s debut novel
Couch

“This funny novel of furniture moving gone awry is a magical realism quest for modern times. Parzybok’s touching story explores the aimlessness of our culture, a society of jobs instead of callings, replete with opportunities and choices but without the philosophies and vocations we need to make meaningful decisions.”—Josh Cook, Porter Square Books, Cambridge, MA

An Indie Next List Pick

“Parzybok’s colorful characters, striking humor, and eccentric magical realism offer up an adventuresome read.”—Christian Crider, Inkwood Books, Tampa, FL

Selected twice as An Indie Next Reading Group List Pick

“Simply one of the best, most enjoyable, and most original books I’ve read in a very, very long time. This novel about a fantastic orange couch is a lyrical story of a heroic quest undertaken by flawed but intrinsically good people. Humorous and glorious, celebratory of the sacred thing that lies inside each (OK, most) of us—I’m recommending
Couch
to everyone!”

—Beth Simpson, Cornerstone Books, Salem, MA

“Hundreds of writers have slavishly imitated—or outright ripped off—Tolkien in ways that connoisseurs of other genres would consider shameless. What Parzybok has done here in adapting the same old song to a world more familiar to the reader is to revive the genre and make it relevant again.”—
The Stranger

“Delightfully lighthearted writing. . . . Occasionally laugh-out-loud funny, the enthusiastic prose carries readers through sporadic dark moments . . . Parzybok’s quirky humor recalls the flaws and successes of early Douglas Adams.”—
Publishers Weekly

“A lot of people are looking for magic in the world today, but only Benjamin Parzybok thought to check the sofa, which is, I think, the place it’s most likely to be found.
Couch
is a slacker epic: a gentle, funny book that ambles merrily from Coupland to Tolkien, and gives couch-surfing (among other things) a whole new meaning.”—Paul La Farge

“Beyond the good old-fashioned story,
Couch
meditates on heroism and history, but above all, it’s an argument for shifting your life around every now and then, for getting off the couch and making something happen.”—
The L Magazine

“Succeeds as a conceptual art piece, a literary travelogue, and a fantastical quest.”—
Willamette Week

“
Couch
hits on an improbable, even fantastic premise, and then rigorously hews to the logic that it generates, keeping it afloat (at times literally) to the end.”—
Los Angeles Times

“
Couch
is a quick and funny read, a short fable that ensnares us in its quixotic intentions and encourages us to believe for a short time in something magic, even if it is just a couch.”—About.com

“The essential message of
Couch
appears to be that the world and our lives would be better if we all got off our couches (literal and metaphorical) a bit more often.”—
The Zone

“Once upon a time, Donald Barthelme, Jonathan Lethem, and Umberto Eco attended a film festival together. The featured flicks were
Kiss Me Deadly, Fitzcarraldo,
and
Repo Man.
Inspired by this odd bill of fare, the trio set out to collaborate on a novel. The result was Benjamin Parzybok’s debut,
Couch
.”—
The Barnes & Noble Review