by Shane Cook

Created on: January 10, 2009   Last Updated: August 28, 2009

Dear Mr. Tesla,

I must try to ease my discomfort by starting this letter with an apology as I do not normally attempt unsolicited correspondences with strangers. Being that you are dead though I suspect I worry for not but the mere writing of the above salutation has set into motion a fretful and silent twitter that I know from past (unrelated) experiences will hang about my head for days. I suppose I am explaining something you know all too well, which does I suppose, lead well into why I am taking up your time.

I am well aware I am not a contemporary of yours. Again, you are dead. My dabbling in electricity started with the fierce rubbing of a balloon upon my head. It ended with it momentarily sticking to a wall. Sure it endlessly amused a gaggle of on looking children but it didn't, nor could it, set alight the 1893 World's Fair. (By the way, that was pretty cool). How did you ever think of that? I'm sorry. I tend to deflect when I'm nervous.

I guess what I want to say is, despite the echoing chasm that separates both our existences and intellects, I see a lot of myself in you. I often feel as if I know something I cant seem to explain. I want to explain it but I just can't. It's as if those around me wouldn't understand. It is as if they don't want to understand. It is as if them understanding or believing would rob them of a position, a placement, an identity. Yes, I realize I am talking about my love of Miracle Whip right now. But what if I wasn't? What if I had this passion for something that mattered? What would I do then?

Like you I often feel alone. Please, do not start reading this out loud in a mimicking and whiney voice. This is not a sad statement of self-centered depression. I need you to be serious for a moment. Don't you feel a separation? Do you not look at those around you and think, "I am not like these people?" Yes, again, I realize I'm talking about my distaste for regular mayonnaise. But what if I wasn't. What if this distance I felt was deeper than this? What would I do? How could I break through?

Oh how I wish you were here right now. I would tell you about the first sandwich I ate and although something about it interested me, something just wasn't right. Something could be improved. I would tell you how I KNEW it could be improved. I would tell you how I KNEW it could be better. I would make you a sandwich with Miracle Whip and you too would believe! We would both sit quietly, chewing, with satisfied looks upon our faces.

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