Family We Don’t See
♾ The city film was very pleasant this morning, green almost. Rain always seemed to breathe life into the park even if for a short while. Doom scrolling insta, Zoe was distracted by a separation in the corner of her phone case. The case’s deterioration made her think about standing in line at D’s Market, arbitrarily, and her mind’s ear remembered over hearing “…so, is Butter Lindy, or not?”
She did some digging. After a few hours on the open internet + old emails from her grandmother and an entire entenmanns coffee cake, cha gurl would never be the same.
In a state of spiritual bewilderment, Zoe, sitting on the ground at the park’s entrance addresses you facing your back. “Hello, stranger,” you hear.
Staring out into the adjacent body of water, confused, you wondering if you know her?
It’s worth noting, Zoe initially thought Lindyman was creepy pasta’d from Slenderman. Think, ‘lazy n apathetic Slenderman navigating the monotony of paying bills, keeping up social appearances, etc in rural Wisconsin.’ And FWIW, she was still open to this being true.
“Don’t turn around” she says, sternly. You can tell she’s harmless, so you oblige; but before you can respond in-kind, Zoe asks, “Can I tell you a story?”
Feeling the excited energy about her, you nod in the affirmative.
“Okay! So, Lindy…hmm, well, you see, there’s this guy Paul, err less a guy than a Twitter account, but actually a framing really…I mean…anyway”
She’s not off to a great start.
“Let’s try that again,” collecting herself. “I have no intention of actually explaining what Lindy means or whom Lindyman is.”
You’re still perplexed by this all, but remain engaged.
“Honestly, read the piece in the times or listen to the ladies, or some shit, if u wanna know.” Taking a step closer, still out of view, she places her hand on ur shoulder sharpening her speech, “That aside, the meaning of Lindy is not that important to the story, I think…we’ll see. All one need know is that ‘Lindy’ (and/or Lindyman’s ‘work’) is a powerful heuristic/framing/whatever tf.”
Intrigued, goosebumps mosey down your neck and triceps.
Zoe goes on, “My dad’s mom was named Kay Lindy. RIP. She was the matriarch of hundreds, and possibly the most important figure in my life. I’ll spare the details but she’s as transcendent as they come.”
Latching onto Zoe’s every word, confusion dissipates like pockets of cold water in the deep end.
“You see, Kay is the connection to a past my body never inhabited, and ultimately inspiration for whats possible in my future…HOLD UP,” she says in slow motion interrupting herself. “I take it back, I’m not gonna spare the details, my gramma Kay was a strong woman, and in a time when it was still ducking based to be so. With the mouth of a degenerate comic gramma evangelized a heretically pious life through benevolent behaviors - raising a family of 7, falling in love at a serial rate, and developing one of the highest quality nursing programs this country has ever seen.” Catching her breath, “Her salsa was also fire.”
“Getting back on track…” Zoe says, “Lindyman and My grandmother are powerful on different planes, u know, like on their own. But the shared Language of ‘Lindy’…that’s truly what fucks me up. I suppose all this is is an appeal to the power of metaphor-n-idiom or not brushing off arbitrary coincidence, or both, or neither, or both, or bruh…” She peters off again…
You begin to become slightly worried that this story sucks, bleeding attention.
Now beginning to pace, or what you interpret as pacing, she soapboxes, “The alchemy of language created the amalgam ‘Kay Lindyman.’ A synthesis of my grand mammy and Lindy maine hisself. There’s no description to give to this synthesis other than that the two ideas are merely more impactful, strengthened as a result of this overlap.”
Thinking to yourself you consider this connection to be v arbitrary, but are weirdly moved, especially as you cannot place Zoe as a separate entity at this point. Now feeling like her voice is companion to your own inner monologues.
“I would argue this link is speaking to unknown yet intelligent magicks, but this is something for another time,” she says matter of factly, seeming to respond to your silent self-reflection.
“Spooky,” you whisper to no response.
She dives back in vigorously, “That being said, this link cannot be undone…arbitrary, coincidental, happenstantial…it matters not. The connection has been made, and each object/idea/soul/relationship/whatever, becomes more galvanized, richer, ultimately of greater importance. Meaning and mystery derived from the mungayne, revealing hidden order that means absolutely nothing + everything.”
Zoe would continue for another 15 or so mins, recounting and pontificating, but the particulars fade from memory. Recalling on that moment days later, it dawns on you that your own grandmother’s name was Kay Lindy.
Thank you, Zoe.
