July 2014 Editorial: On Satellite Hill there was a tiny shoebox with all of our secret letters inside of it, placed into the hollow of a tree there. Not a lot of people climbed the hill too often because there wasn’t much to see up there except for some old dead trees that were likely to fall over if you’d try climbing one. Neither of us weighed much back then because of how malnourished we were, and being just little kids anyway, we paid no mind to our safety and would have picnics up in the treetops on the hill. Nothing bad ever happened and nobody fell. We wrote secret letters to each other and stashed them inside the shoebox in the hollow. One time there was a snowstorm that lasted a long time, it seemed, so we couldn’t climb the hill at all for it was much too slippery. So we had picnics together in our respective basements instead, writing secret letters we’d keep in a small plastic tea kettle from a toy set. At the end of the storm we climbed the hill to add our basement letters to the box in the hollow, but the tree was gone. The whole tree was gone, in its place a hollow in the earth from where the trunk had been ripped out. In fact many of the trees on the hill were missing and it looked barren out there. We searched the surrounding hillsides amidst fallen, piled-up snow-crumbled wreckage, but could not find our tree. By the time we got older we’d moved on to postcards because I lived at the south end of town and your family had moved somewhere much more northern. Now, as adults, we talk on the telephone a lot on weekends and holidays. When I think back at how long we’ve known each other, it amazes me. Lots of people kill their friendships long before they fully get a chance to bloom, you know?
- Jaret Ferratusco.