Letters From the Past [FICTION]

The mail girl slams my mail on my desk with her regular surliness. As I look up, she points her snarl downward to avoid accidental eye contact. I shake my head and pick up the three envelopes that caused so much frustration. The top two are interdepartmental memos that repeat information already relayed in emails. The return address on the envelope belongs to a local correctional facility.

I raise an eyebrow as I open the envelope. A single folded page of cheap paper falls onto my desk. I ponder the vaguely familiar handwriting as I begin to read.

“Norma,

“I know I took it upon myself to tease you every time I could when we were in high school, but nowI need help that only you can offer. If you are willing to forgive me or even just curious, come visit me during visiting hours. Either way, please don’t tell anyone about this letter.

“Yours,

“Amos”

“Wow.” I exhale sharply and place the letter facedown on my desk. “That’s a hard choice.”

“What is?” My cubicle neighbor Minnie peers around the corner of my doorway.

I remember the last line of the letter and gesture toward the piles on my desk, “where to start.”

“You and me both, sister. I always start with the smallest pile.”

“Wise.”

She turns back toward her own cubicle, tossing one final comment over her shoulder. “Just don’t get that desk too clean. That’s when people give you a new pile to shuffle through.”

“Oh, I know,” I force a laugh as I pick up the letter to read it again.

~~~

The conviviality and good will of the holidays leads me to a rash decision. That choice finds me standing in line outside the prison being eyed by a couple of shifty-looking men. Luckily, I dressed like I dress for work and my librarian chic and refusal to make eye contact eventually turns them off.

I continue shuffling forward with my eyes pointed toward the crumbling asphalt under my feet. When I finally reach the door, a gruff guard asks me a series of probing questions and runs a metal detector over me before pointing me toward a female guard. She gently pats me down and then turns me around to look into my eyes.

“First time?”

I nod.

“Don’t worry, honey, the boys act tough, but they are only tough with people who deserve it. They will keep you safe.” She inclines her head toward the gruff guard I had just interacted with.

He offers me the slightest hint of a smile before turning his attention back to the next visitor with his scowl firmly in place.

The female guard taps my arm. “You just go through those doors. That hallway leads right to the visiting room.” She pats me reassuringly on the back and sends me on my way.

The wide hallway features a hard concrete floor painted dark grey and brick walls coated in a thin wash of sickly yellowish green paint. I decide to focus my eyes on the floor. I follow the footsteps of the guard in front of me. When they stop moving, I halt and lift my head. He opens the door and holds it for me as I step inside.

“No touching. Don’t make eye contact with anyone but the guards or the person you are visiting. Let me know if you want to leave at any time.” He intones dully as I step into the room.

After that warning, I find it hard to lift my eyes upward to look for a vaguely familiar face. 

“Norma,” a voice softly pulls me out of my contemplation of my shoes.

I slowly lift my head long enough to glance at the face of the slender man before me. “Amos?”

“Yep. Still Amos.” He grins softly.

The guard at his side gently pulls him toward one of the few small tables dispersed around the large room. “Behave, Amos, or you’ll lose some privileges.”

Amos blushes and sits wordlessly in one of the metal chairs. I try to pull out the one across from him only to realize the chairs are bolted to the table. I sit down, annoyed by the forced proximity.

“Sorry about the seating, Norma, but they don’t trust guys like me. They have their reasons.”

“I’m sure they do.” I clear my throat and take a quick glance around the room

I quickly realize Amos is the least scary person in the room aside from me. Even the woman visiting the man to our left looks like she could take on one of the guards and give him a fair fight. As her argument with her inmate escalates, I begin to worry that I might get to see my hypothesis tested. The guard closest to them makes a soft clucking sound, however, and she settles down.

“So, you said you needed my help?” I ask, returning my attention to Amos.

“I do. Assuming you got my letter at the real estate office.”

“I did…”

He pauses, biting his lip in thought for a moment for before leaning forward to tentatively speak. “So I got a letter from my mom. She can’t take care of her house. I need you to help her sell it and find a new place.”

“Any realtor could do that.”

“But I trust you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Come on, Norma, you are the opposite of bad to the bone. And you always were a favorite of the little old ladies.”

I look at him questioningly.

“Every teacher we had who was close to retirement doted on you. You were so respectful and a bit of a know-it-all.”

“Didn’t you sleep through most of the classes we had together?”

“And yet I still noticed.”

“None of that makes me a better choice than Henry Perkins, who graduated with us and has been working at the real estate office twice as long as me.”

“What? You don’t want a commission?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I don’t believe you answered my question. And you definitely haven’t given me a reason to think this should be top secret.”

“You want the truth?”

“I just said that. At great length.”

He leans in. “Okay, first, my mother told me you work in the real estate office. Second, some people still think I have money hidden in my mother’s house.”

“Do you?”

“No, but that won’t stop a bunch of degenerates from trampling through the house and trying to tear It apart in an effort to find something that doesn’t exist.”

“And how am I supposed to keep that from happening?”

“You’re a realtor. Can’t you think of ways to weed out the treasure hunters.”

I nod my head. “We can skip open houses and I can just suggest private showings to people who are sincerely looking for a home.”

“This is why I needed to talk to you. Will you help her?”

“Give me her address and I will talk to her and let her know if I can help.”

“Thanks, Norma. I could kiss you, but..” He tilts his head toward the guard.

“And I wouldn’t let you.” I grin.

“And that. Thanks again for coming.” He stands up and takes a few steps toward the guard before turning to look at me over his shoulder. “It’s nice to see a friendly face.” 

Amos leans in to whisper to the guard, who nods and pulls a notebook and pen from his pocket. He quickly scribbles something on the first page and then tears out the page and proffers it to me. I tentatively accept and giggle nervously as I realize it is Amos' mother’s address.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, ma’am.” The guard takes Amos’ elbow and leads him away.

I take longer strides exiting the building and quickly reach my car. As I put the car in gear, I decide to go look at the house I might be selling and see what I think.

~~As last submissions of the year go, this one wasn’t too bad, I hope. May the new year be filled with joy and health and delicious treats for all of you…and more fantastic writing…~~

Dear Santa [FICTION]

 I only wanted one thing for Christmas last year and it never appeared under my tree. I appreciated all the clothes, particularly the fuzzy socks, but it left me wondering what more I could do to earn a spot on the “Nice List”.

I know you see everything, so you know I sat down on December 26th and wrote my own version of a “Nice List”. Since I know you have my letter from last year, you already know what I wanted most in all the world, so this year’s letter will focus on all the nice things I have done this past year in order to earn it.

So far, I have spread joy in the following ways:

1. Helping the neighbors take down their lights last year, so they wouldn’t be doing it in the April showers again.

2. And the day after Thanksgiving a couple weeks ago, I didn’t add to the shopping chaos because I was helping put those same lights up. Full disclosure, Santa, I did accept some cookies from Mrs. McClusky. She leaves some out for you every year, so you know why I couldn’t say no.

3. I helped my mom around the house even when she didn’t ask.

4. And I tried to keep my little brother and sister from bothering her. They want new board games, by the way, in case you can’t read their scribbles.

5. I have shoveled a lot of snow for my elderly neighbors, raked leaves, and even helped plant a million seeds and bulbs that I don’t know the name of.

6. I even tried to pay better attention to my teachers at school, and I definitely turned every assignment in on time.

Don’t worry, Santa, I realized I like being helpful even when delicious cookies aren’t promised, so I will keep being good. But I would still appreciate just one special gift under the tree this year. And I won’t say “no” to fluffy socks if Mrs. Claus insists.

~~Every year The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints reminds us that the holidays are more about what we give than what we give. What better gift can we give than the gift of time? This was clearly a fictional story, because Santa doesn’t have time to read my blog, but I hope it inspires all of us to show more love even if we fear Santa isn’t going to place our most coveted gift under the tree.~

~~And in honor of lighting the world, feel free to check this inspirational video out: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/comeuntochrist/light-the-world-2021/the-christ-child ~~

Doing Good [FICTION]

Sometimes I let my friends convince me to be a better person. We always end up somewhere I wouldn’t choose to be. This time, I find myself in the dusty basement of a stale-smelling church, surrounded by boxes and bags of yard sale rejects.The pastor assigned me to sort the chafe from the wheat by type while making the final decision to toss anything that even the craziest bargain shopper won’t pay a penny for. My solution to this last piece of advice was to label a box with a handwritten sign declaring EVERYTHING MUST GO: ONE PENNY. I will let the purchaser decide if I mean for the entire box or each piece. I have tossed a few almost destroyed books into the box thus far and a shoe with no mate. I add another unsalvageable volume, placing it with exaggerated care.

I move on to the next item in the pile. I murmur appreciatively at what great shape the small, leather suitcase is in. It only has a couple of scratches on the outside. I hold my breath as I open it and peek inside. I slowly take in a breath, relieved that no noxious fumes assail me. I have already had a couple of unpleasant odors that I instantly vanquished into the trash can this morning. I check all of the pockets, finding nothing until my fingers connect with a folded sheet of paper tucked into the skinny pocket on the outside.

Curious, I unfold it and begin reading the contents.

“February 20, 2021

“Dear world,

“It is with a sad heart that I write this, but you don’t care. You never did. You never will. The blip that was me will go unmourned. I doubt even my family or friends will notice that I winked out of existence. If they do, I’m sorry I am gone, but had you wanted me to stay, you would have let me know. So in accordance with all the melodrama expected of a last missive, I say goodbye cruel world and all those who didn’t get me or want to.

“No longer yours,

“Niall Early”

“Niall,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. “I swore I talked to him a week ago.”

I scroll through my texts which assure me that Niall responded to some banefully dull text I sent last week. The reassurance only goes so far though. I start to send a text and reconsider. This is the sort of issue people need to discuss in person. I tuck the letter into my pocket and finish my shift.

As soon as the pastor releases me from the day’s duties, I shake his hand and head over to Niall’s house. It looks as well-kept as ever, possibly more so. I tiptoe along the pristine stone path, envying the lush green lawn and perfectly arranged flowerbeds on either side. I ring the bell and wait.

“Coming. Coming. Keep your pants on or take them off if you’re a pretty girl,” Niall’s deep voice greets me from the other side of the door.

I blush despite the fact that I know my pants are staying where they are. The door swings open and I find myself looking into the grinning faces of Niall Early, looking well and happy. He perks up when his eyes rest on me. 

‘Well, hello, Susie Sunshine. Did you get too much sun? Those cheeks are are very red today.”

I bristle at the childhood nickname, but remembering the content of the letter, I manage to calm my anger. I ignore him as he says a few more suggestive things. I wait for an opening and slide the note from my pocket. He looks at it curiously but fails to find words to ask about it. 

“So I was volunteering at the church today and I found something in a piece of luggage…” I start, slowly unfolding the note, so he can get a good look at it.

He reaches for it and then realizes what it must be and drops his hand like I just offered him a ball of fire. “Oh. Yeah. That was just a joke.”

I watch his face, which doesn’t echo his words. “If you say so. You can keep that then.”

He takes the paper, folding it up and sliding it into his pocket. “Thanks. I won’t need it.”

“I hope not.” I reply, letting a pause linger between us in the hopes that he will speak if he needs to get something off of his mind.

He holds my gaze, trying to keep his lewd smile firmly in place, but it slips. “Okay. I had a rough February, Susie, but clearly I am fine. I totally forgot about that letter and clearly I didn’t follow through with anything.”

“But you did feel that way…” I struggle to find the correct words.

“You keep trying to help me with this and I might think you care,” his male bravado gives way to defensiveness.

“Nope. Not at all. I drove over here after a long day volunteering just to see your pretty face.” I opt for the lower road, the one he prefers.

His lips tilt upward just a little as he opens the door. “You make a good point. You can come inside if you want.” As I step over the threshold, I can feel his eyes scanning my form. “You can leave your pants on if you want…”

I hesitate, glancing back at my nice, safe car, but I step deeper into the house, which proves as pristine as his lawn. “You don’t happen to have a gardener and a maid, do you?”

“I wish. Sadly, that is all me. Come to the kitchen. I can get you a glass of ice water.”

“Sounds good.” I follow him.

As I get situated with my ice water, he starts to unburden himself. “My girlfriend broke up with me in February. Apparently, I have done a good job playing the playboy. My friends tried to take me out to the club to find a new woman. My parents dismissed my sadness and told me there was no reason for me to be sad. I mean there are other girls in the sea.” He takes a sip of ice water, watching my reaction as he continues. “So they stopped talking to me entirely. It was kind of a dark time.”

I nod my head, but no words come to me that wouldn’t sound insulting or uncaring. I follow his example and take a long, slow sip of icy water.

He grins at me. “You don’t need to worry, Susie Sunshine, I don’t have a girlfriend to lose, unless you want to volunteer, and my family has already begun contacting me about the holidays. I won’t entertain any foolish thoughts.”

“If you can stop calling me Susie Sunshine, you can call if you need to talk. I promise I will listen.”

“So that is a yes to being my girlfriend?”

“No. Just a friend who is a girl.”

He ponders this for a minute. “Sounds like a fair trade, Susie…” He pauses as he looks down at his phone, struggling not to add on the extra word.

I laugh, wondering what I have gotten myself into as he starts talking again. This time innuendo laces every word, but he keeps his hands to himself, so maybe I can convince him to stop playing the Lothario with me.

~~Hope you find the chance to do good today and that it is taken in the right light.~~

[FICTION] Late Delivery

Why am I always late? I berate myself for the millionth time as I race toward the bus stop. I clutch my bag tightly to my chest and ignore the stitch forming in my side. I push apart a couple that stop to stare at something in a shop window across the street. They call out to me, but I ignore them. My feet pound the pavement faster as the whoosh of air escaping the air brakes engaging reminds me how late I am.

As the bus slowly rolls up to the curb, something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. All thoughts of catching the bus leave my mind. I forget my tardiness. Instead, my mouth falls open as I look into a familiar face from ten years ago.

“That can’t be.” I mumble as I step closer to the boy standing at the mouth of the alley.

“Pete?” I call out.

He smiles at me but turns away.

“Wait! Pete? Wait!” I call out again, stepping toward the alley.

I turn back toward the bus as the doors squeal closed. I should be getting on board that bus not chasing some strange boy into an alley. I know he can’t be my childhood sweetheart. Pete would be twenty-four. This boy can’t be more than fourteen, the same age Pete was the last time I saw him. I look back at the bus, watching it pull away before something pulls me back toward the alley.

I begin berating myself aloud. “Even if it were him, and it were ten years ago, he never wrote you back. Why would you want to talk to him?”

A red-headed woman frowns and veers away from me as she realizes I am talking to myself. I ignore her and step into the alley. The boy stands halfway to the next street, watching me, waiting for me. I step closer. He doesn’t move. I take a few more steps. I am close enough to see the same sad, dark eyes that always looked straight through me. I smile. He smiles back, the same shy smile that always won my heart even when we were arguing.

“Pete?” My voice comes out in a tentative squeak.

He turns away from me to step into a narrow opening in the dark brick wall. I run the few steps to where he disappeared, stopping to peer around the corner. The doorway stands empty. A pile of boxes leans against a heavy metal door. A carefully folded piece of paper sits exactly in the middle of the opening. I look up and down the alley, searching for any sign of movement. I peer at the door speculatively, trying to figure out how it could open without making a sound or dislodging the boxes. I lean over to pick up the paper, taking in a sharp breath as familiar handwriting unfolds before me.

My Dearest Bella,

I know I am writing this letter far too late, but I needed to write you as I promised I would. I was young and foolish when my family moved. I thought the world was waiting for me and holding onto the love I felt for you would somehow keep me from attaining the fame and fortune I thought awaited me, so I let you go.

Don’t think that I never thought of you. I thought of you almost every day, but by the time I realized how much I missed you, I knew it was too late to reach back into the past and bring you into my future. I just wish I could have. You’d have made my life so much better.

I hope you will forgive me for the foolishness of my youth. I need your forgiveness now more than ever.

I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you. I want you to be happy. Please be happy. Find someone who will be wise enough to love you enough to keep their promises, and take care of yourself.

Love always,

Pete

I stare at the letter in confusion as soft warmth climbs to my cheeks. I am sure he meant to say more, but what he did write makes me unable to form questions in my mind. I gently fold the letter and slip it into my purse. After one last slow scan up and down the alley, I slowly trek back to the bus stop. I take the next bus even though it deposits me two blocks from my house.

As I walk home, memories flood my mind. My lips tingle as I think of my first kiss with Pete, my first kiss ever. Tears moisten my eyes as I remember our last kiss, the last time I heard from him until the letter. How did it even get into the alley? Did I really see the teenage version of him at all? How could any of this be possible?

I am still struggling to find any logical explanation as I open the door to my apartment. The red light on the answering machine announces a message. I pick the mail up from the floor before stepping forward to press the button. As I sort through the bills and junk, my mother’s voice fills the room.

“Bella, baby, I just heard from Janice that her son, Pete, passed away this morning. I know he was your first love, so I wanted you to hear it from me. Call me back as soon as you get this. I love you.”

The answering machine beeps. Envelopes cascade from my hand to the floor. I reach into my purse, pulling out the folded sheet of paper and scanning it again. I read the words again and again, but they don’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

I slowly cross the floor to sit down on the couch. My hands still clutch the edges of the page, but I no longer read it. Slow tears cloud my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I remain frozen like this until the phone rings again. I get up to answer it, hoping that my mother will offer me some semblance of sanity.

“Hey, mom, something weird happened today…”

I Will Love You

The last two posts didn't seem to pull my readers into a new year full of words and excitement, so here is another offering from the confused mind of sugar-laden lady. What do you think?

Some days, I realized I needed to be more organized. On this particular day, I had already searched all of the logical places for a receipt that I needed. Without it, the office wouldn’t reimburse the cost of my recent business trip. My search finally brought me to my hall closet where all my scraps of paper went to be forgotten. I grabbed the top box, quickly setting it aside as removing the lid sent up a cloud of glitter from Christmas cards of years past.

Stepping further into the closet, I pulled another shoebox from the stack. The boxes on top of it plopped to the floor, spilling papers around my feet. I glanced at them before opening the box in my hand, tossing the lid to the floor as I scanned the contents. Only a couple of receipts nestled among old letters and newspaper clippings.

“Where did I put that receipt?” I grumbled as I knelt down to reclaim the box lid.

My name leaped out from one of the spilled papers. I frowned at the unfamiliar handwriting, reaching for the folded page with one hand as the box slipped from the other. My mouth twisted as I scanned the tightly penned words on the page.

My beloved Bella,

Thank you so much for teaching me what love is. I cannot wait to hold you in my arms again. I know my words will never be as eloquent as yours, so I close this brief letter with the three most important words I have ever said: I Love You.

Always,

James

I scanned the letter again. Who is James? I’ve never seen this letter before.

I picked up the envelope on top of the pile and looked at it. My mouth dropped open. JUL 15 2020

I rubbed my eyes, and looked at the date again. JUL 15 2020 BALTIMORE

“How can that be?”

As I pushed myself up from the floor, a cascade of boxes tumbled toward me. My own voice falsely echoed my words.

“Where can that be?”

As I turned toward the voice, which could not be mine, a hazy form snapped into focus. My own face with seven more years of living parodied my mother’s except for the laughter in those dark eyes.

“Oh?” My aged self surveyed me for a moment. “Is this the day that happens?”

My own tongue remained glued to the top of my mouth.

“I know you’re confused and a little scared, Bella, but I have five minutes to tell you how to make your dreams come true, so listen to me. First, never ever completely clean this closet. Those jokes about marines being lost in here aren’t true, but something else seems to be happening. Don’t fall in love with the first guy who claims he loves you or the second or the third. Wait until work sends you on a trip to Baltimore. You’ll meet James there. Don’t sweat it, he’ll get your number.”

As her words gushed out, she began to fade. Offering one final piece of advice, she disappeared. “Don’t worry so much. I will love you no matter what, and so will he.”

I looked back down at my hand but found it empty. Papers still lined the floor of the closet, but each one possessed a date from the past not the future.

“Don’t sweat it?” I asked myself as I began raking the pages together and stuffing them untidily into shoe boxes.

Stunned I stepped back into the smaller bedroom I used as an office. As I sank heavily into the wooden chair in front of my ancient desktop, I noticed a slip of paper draped across the monitor. I picked it up, idly realizing I had found my receipt. My confused mind noted it before wandering back to the advice of my future self.

In seven years, I’ll be in love…with a man from Baltimore?

Remember Me?

Ever wonder what the past would say if it could write you a letter?

I lift the lid of the mailbox, peering inside to find the standard array of bills and junk mail. Nestled among the long envelopes demanding money, a square envelope draws my eye. A childish hand penned my address in large block letters and addressed it to a nickname I thought was forgotten but didn’t give a return address. The rest of the envelopes slide onto the table just inside the door as I gently tear open the envelope. A few pieces of yellowed stationery slide out into my hand. As I begin to read, my brow furrows in confusion and tears form in the corners of my eyes.

Dear Bella,

I hear that is what everyone calls you now. I remember when your brothers used to call you Belly as they tickled you until you cried. Do you remember being that young? Have you forgotten me? Or do you remember how often I was the one to dry your tears?

You used to love me. You loved the feel of my soft fur on your face as you snuggled into sleep. You even loved my rich, deep voice. You loved when I sang “Proud Mary” because I sounded just like John Fogerty. I loved when you would sing along even though you were always out of tune.

In fact, there wasn’t anything about you I didn’t love. I loved the way you always smelled of sugar and dirt. I miss the mud pies you made for me even though I never ate them. I long for our adventures in the woods and quiet nights when you struggled to stay awake a little longer to watch the moon come up with me.

I remember everything. I even remember the night you went away with your mother and your brothers. You left so quickly, leaving me behind. By the time you came back, I was nowhere to be found. I like to believe you looked for me before being distracted by some new toy that your father bought out of guilt.

You thought they gave me away to another child who needed to be loved, didn’t you? Parents lie. They claim they are protecting you, but sometimes they just want to protect themselves from their own mistakes. I hope your forgive them. They love you as much as I do.

Where have I been? I’ve been gathering dust in the attic of your old house. I could have stayed here forever. I would have waited for you to come back, no matter how long it took. But they have discovered me. My fur is matted and covered in dust and mold. My once shiny, black eyes are now pitted and dull. They don’t want me. I don’t blame. I’ll go back to the trashcan after I mail this letter, but I had to write to you.

I know even you couldn’t love me now, but I still love you. Take care of yourself. You will always be my little girl, who wrapped her arms around me and dragged me along the grass because she wasn’t tall enough to keep my feet off the ground. I hope you had other friends to comfort you. I hope you still do. Just think of me from time to time, your first love, your first stuffed animal.

Love always,

Brown Dog

I read through the letter another time. Tears pour down my cheeks.

“Oh, Brown Dog, I do remember you.”

I place the letter on the table next to the unopened mail and step over to the stereo. I close my eyes and remember being young as Brown Dog sings “Proud Mary” for me one more time.