Show and Tell for the End of the World / Mary Kassel

Show and Tell for the End of the World

WORDS Mary Kassel VISUALS Mariely Torres

Someday, the earth will be dust and so will I. I’ll probably be first, but with the way things are going, who’s to say. Maybe the Earth and I will part like lovers in a song. Too in love to let each other go so we make a pact and die together. As the dirt cracks beneath my feet and volcanoes erupt around me, I sink peacefully into the rocks and join my decaying ancestors who were ripped from their lovers too soon and too painfully many years before I knew what my body was for. Or, maybe I will be ripped as they were from my Mother who I kick at and spit on and take for granted, only in my last

moments lamenting that I didn’t treat her better. Even now with all my self awareness I squeeze my eyes shut as the news of the future threatens to shake the small foothold of safety I have carved into my Mother’s back. I convince myself that she can bear my burden. She has billions of children now, had billions before me, and maybe billions after. She is so solid and safe and unshakeable. Her weakness is millions of miles away and cannot touch me. Her death, her mortality, her humanity is something that I will never see with my own eyes. I will take from her until it’s someone else’s turn to replace me and do the taking. Those who would replace me will be just as selfish.

With each incarnation of ourselves she gets closer to death, and we do not change. We never will. But maybe that’s cynical. Maybe the next “me” will pick up my clothes and my trinkets and wonder why I did not do more. They will look at me the way I look at you now. Shocked by the language you use, the morals you uphold, the violence you allow. I know so much more. I am so much more prepared. It will be me, it will be all of us, who do not repeat your mistakes. You tell me we’re changing the world. That you’re proud of the words I write and the shouting I do. But my Mother is deaf and blind. What does she care? She made the world and everything in it. I wake up every morning and devise how best I can make myself sick for the rest of the day. What will they see when I’m gone? If my Mother remains and I am forced to move on without her, what will you remember me by? Will it be my words? Will it be the recipe cards, the first scarf I knitted, the earrings I always wear? Probably not. It will probably be the pictures I left of myself everywhere I went. The trappings of a twenty-yearlong show and tell. I cannot choose what they’ll find and how they’ll find it. I don’t know what will remain of me, or you, or the life we’ve all built together. But, if I got to choose, what would I pick?

“I squeeze my eyes shut as the news of the future threatens to shake the small foothold of safety I have carved into my Mother’s back.”

Part One: Patrick Williams

Do you mind if I record this?

No.

[To be clear, there’s a smile in his voice when he says this.]

If you could put three things in a time capsule to be found someday when humanity is gone, what would you pick?

No, it’s nice. Hmmmm, okay. That’s hard… My first would be my mother’s cookbook. She made a 600 page cookbook with all of her recipes. Holiday recipes, birthday recipes, desserts, her great grandmother’s recipes, my grandma’s recipes, everything. And so she recently gifted us that for Christmas. Something about food is just kind of historical. It has a deeper meaning so if someone were to find it, of course they would have to make all of Lisa’s recipes.

I would also include this bracelet me and all my brothers have. It would be a cute little parting. Also, whoever finds it, fuck, would have a cute ass bracelet.

I think also—my mom and grandma always say DATOHATS to us every birthday, Christmas, every single time my mom flies she sends us a take-off text “DATOHATS I love you,” which means Deep As The Ocean High As The Sky. A little cheesy.

My grandma used to say that a lot to us, she’s still alive, but I think something with that. Even if it’s just a piece of paper with that written on it. I think handwriting is really sentimental. My mom’s recipe book, a lot of those are handwritten. Yeah, something being handwritten takes it to the next level.

Part Two: Christina Sugimoto

Can I record?

Yes.

[Nothing like banter about recording consent between friends.]

My question for you, is if you had three items that you could leave in a time capsule to be found after the apocalypse, what would they be?

Oh, um, okay… I would put my mom’s film camera in there. I’m huge on film photography, it’s one of my biggest passions, and that camera was really special because it was my first camera ever. It broke so that was sad, but my mom used to use it so a lot of our childhood photos were taken on that camera. It was special that I got it and I was able to use it for a while. It reminds me of my mom.

I think my second one would be a stuffed animal that’s been passed down through my brothers. I have two older brothers and my oldest brother’s 28. This stuffed animal has been in our family since he was a child so it’s older than me. I have it now. I don’t think it had a name growing up but I named it Mr. Bear.

Yeah I mean, of course.

I think it’s appropriate. I think I want to pass it down to my kids someday, hopefully. But, if the world was gonna end I would throw it in that time capsule.

Third, maybe my first guitar. I’m sort of self-taught on the guitar, but my oldest brother taught me a song when I first got it, and then he left for college. Music’s always been a big part of my life and guitar is the one instrument that I was super consistent with growing up. And my mom used to play so it has family ties. I think that would be my last one.

Part Three: Mary Kassel

As your interviewer and narrator, what can I leave you with? Now that I’ve waxed on the end of the world, and listened to my friends tell me their choices, what will mine be? The big question I so cruelly forced onto others I now turn on myself. So, I’ll stall a little longer.

I didn’t just ask my interviewees. I asked everyone. Some people want to share a part of the world they believe is worth remembering. That will give something to whoever spends the time digging up our secrets. The answer to what’s worth remembering, you’ll find, differs greatly from person to person. Are we, individually, worth remembering? Should it be monuments or my stuffed elephant? Somehow I think they wouldn’t care. When I look back at the history that came before me, I don’t really care how or why civilizations fell. I’m not interested in why a bunch of men decided to fight a war and kill themselves and the people around them. I bet I can guess the answer. But, I’d love to live the day-to-day life of just one person. I want to know how one girl lived thousands of years ago. I don’t need civilizations. I just need one girl. So I’ll leave you with this. 1. My favorite t-shirt. (A Vampire Weekend graphic tee) 2. My copy of The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson. (Annotated) 3. Sheet music of my favorite song. (Till There Was You)

If you like my answers, I don’t really care. They’re mine and you can’t change them. Of course, how I’m really remembered won’t lie in the bits I’ve chosen and will be decided long after I’m gone. One day I won’t be remembered at all. And how freeing is that? If a stranger in my postapocalyptic fantasy finds my favorite things, I hope they think they’re funny. I hope they like the t-shirt colors and design as much as I do. I hope they put it on and it fits just right in the way that’s hard to find. I hope they find a way to read the book and feel something new for the first time the way I did. They can even smile indulgently at my annotations, as if I have something to add to this modern philosophy. And I hope that there’s a piano laying around somewhere, or just someone one to sing my song. Something light and pretty, but also heart wrenching. I hope they get to be in love for the first time and believe they have never heard birds sing until that moment.

These are silly and mundane hopes. I should really be hoping for the reestablishment of agriculture or something. However, I think humanity will recreate society. If there’s one thing we love it’s creating ways to oppress each other until we all die. So, in the inbetween parts of our brief time until the sun explodes, pick something nice to care about. Pick someone nice to color the way you are remembered. Be stupidly happy and say embarrassing things to everyone you know, and then laugh about it later because it doesn’t matter. But, hey, what do I know? I’m just a person living at the end of the world.