The Miracle Letters of T. Rimberg

Section I Minneapolis Day One (August 10, 2005): Transcript 1 Note: Only Mr. Rimberg's responses were transcribed. Yes. Ready. Go ahead, sir. Okay, Father Barry it is. I'm sorry, Father Barry. I don't remember who you are exactly. I remember you being around . . . was it yesterday? Okay. Good. That was yesterday. I've been taking a lot of painkillers. What do you want to know? I mean . . . I don't remember the accident. I can't help you with . . . I don't remember . . . I'm sorry, you're more interested in the rest? Can you be You have my . . . Where did you get my backpack? Letter 1 August 18, 2004 Dear Jesus, I am drunk. I think I just got rich. My dad never came through for me in life, but looks like he's trying to make it up. Not a chance. Not gonna work, Dad! Too late! My wife took my kids, Jesus. She left me. My goddamn girlfriend left me, too! My job is nowhere, horror, dumbassed, dry eyes always dizzy at a damn computer. I don't care! I just don't care! I am drunk. Just peed in the yard! What do you think of that? Here's hi-larious. Here's FUNNY. I'm going to commit suicide. Kill MySelf. I've thought about it for a long time and it is a great choice. Why not? Are you laughing? I'm not sad. Never felt better, which maybe you'd think would put me back in business (the life business). Wrong, Jesus! I'm gonna do it. Why wouldn't I? Name a reason. T. Rimberg Day One: Transcript 2 You have my permission to record. I wrote to Jesus because I was drunk, I think. Yes. I'm breathing. I'm glad you have my backpack. I'd be very worried if I thought it was still at the motel. Okay. My name is Theodore Rimberg. Call me T. I don't know. That's what people have always called me. I'm used to it. Date of birth, August 19, 1969. My permanent address is in Minneapolis, Minnesota. But I haven't really lived there for . . . I've been in Poland, mostly, for the last year. Now I am recuperating in a hospital in Green Bay, Wisconsin, after . . . an accident? No sir . . . Father. I'm not Catholic. My wife, Mary Sheridan, grew up Catholic. My mother grew up Catholic, too. My dadwell, he lived as a Catholic during World War II. He was just a kid. Yes, that's correct. Mary Sheridan is my ex-wife. I'm divorced. Three children. A twelve-year-old boy and twin ten-year-old girls. I wrote to . . . everybody. I don't know. One day, about a year ago, I started writing and I couldn't stop for months. My dad wrote stuff, too. Yes. Dad is important. He was Jewish. I don't know why I wrote to Jesus. . . . Because Dad inspired this. I got this . . . money. He's the reason I went to Europe. Dad left when I was a kid, actually. I was a tiny . . . I was a nine-year-old having heart attacks. Letter 2 August 19, 2004 Dear David my "brother," I just tried calling. What in the hell is going on? You're never home or you don't pick up the phone. Aren't you home at two a.m.' I need to talk to you. I have some important news. Shh. Listen. Herbie, the Love Bug is a seriously fucked-up movie. That's the truth. I hadn't seen Herbie since we were kids, David. Didn't we love it? I remember playing Herbie, running through ditches at Grandma's, honking, "spinning" our wheels in the gravel, pretending to do VW Bug wheelies, all in fastHerbach, Geoff is the author of 'The Miracle Letters of T. Rimberg', published 2008 under ISBN 9780307396372 and ISBN 0307396371.