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an email to the rose creek school board

by Wesley Korpela

Dear Members of the Facilities Committee:

 

I would like to formally submit Carl Harrison Elementary as the name of the new school being constructed.

 

Carl was such a sweet man, doting husband, and an alright/serviceable parent to his stepchildren. We met on July 24, 1999 at Rosy Lanes. When I bowled a perfect game, he offered to buy me a basket of fries. He told me I had nice eyes and he was looking to settle down. We were married within a month.

 

As my husband, Carl often surprised me. He jumped out of closets, laundry baskets, and kitchen cabinets. This quirk in his personality wasn’t without reason. He would follow up each jump scare with the same phrase: “You’re on AFV!”

 

Carl tried for years to get a tape of me screaming on America’s Funniest Home Videos and never succeeded. He loved my children, but the approval of Tom Bergeron ate up his time. I became the sole breadwinner and caretaker, which is really whatever. I still loved him.

 

Then came March 14, 2009. The date I lost Carl. He said I had grown too used to the surprises. The shock factor was lost, and the tapes were duds. We divorced. He lives nearby and we talk often. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss being his muse.

 

He has never been featured on AFV and it’ll likely take ten years until Carl recalibrates his material for Alfonso Ribeiro. But he’s a nice enough man. How about you give Carl a ‘win’ and name the school after him?

 

All of my best,

 

Genevieve Powers-Harrison

Wesley Korpela

 

Wesley Caldwell Korpela is a writer currently based in Madison, WI. He graduated from UW-Madison in May 2018 with a double major in Creative Writing and Theatre & Drama. His other interests lie in theater and improvisational comedy. His recent debut publication was in the literary magazine Sheepshead Review.

Korpela Athor Phtoo.jpeg

— Sarah Rose Cadorette

“Oh, so NO ONE has ever gotten DRUNK at a WEDDING before?” I asked, flinging my arms out to indicate that I was a very, very big presence.

            The EMT sighed, pushed the stretcher up against a wall, and came around to face me. “Do you know why we picked you up, Sarah? Hmm?” I shook my head defiantly. “You were laughing in the bushes.”

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