I remembered you said you liked the 1950s because they wrote real letters. Here you go. A real letter.
The reason I’m writing is I saw this dog charm at a little shop here in Killeen and thought of you. How is Shep? Has he learned any new tricks?
He thought of me. Well, and the dog. Same thing.
I read on.
Anthony has sent me a few cryptic text messages this week. Have you heard from or seen Vicky lately?
Take care, Alex.
He’s asking me questions. Sure, he’s not asking howIam, just the dog, but it’s something. It means he wants an answer, right? A response.
He wants me to write him back.
Alec Marchesani wants to be my pen pal.Palbeing the most important word in that sentence because we’re friends, Alec and me.Onlyfriends.
Better than a kick in the pants, as my dad likes to say, right?
As for his question about Vicky, that’s a hard no. I haven’t seen her since the wedding. However, my dad told me Aunt Annabelle called the other day. When I asked him what she wanted, he skirted the question like a pro, which is both nice because they talked and concerning because she doesn’t call my dad all that often. Maybe the time spent at the wedding was what they all needed to reconnect.
As for Alec’s question, I think I need to do a little sleuthing.
I read the letter one more time. After which, I fold it carefully, like it’s a rare and precious document, and place it in my top drawer where I keep my undies.
Seems appropriate.
Glancing at the clock, I realize I’ve got no time to start a letter in response to Alec’s, which saddens me. Maybe work will be slow and I’ll be able to jot down some notes, you know, in preparation for my reply.
It’s got to be perfect.
ChapterFifteen
Alec
With a stackof mail in hand, I unlock my front door. I’ve had a rotten night at work, but it’s like that on Saturday nights. New recruits or Noobs as we like to call them, are notoriously riled up on Saturday nights due to the fact they’ve got no early formations on Sunday morning, which means it’s their chance to do the dumbest shit possible. Example, I arrested a guy for running buck-ass naked across the post. I had to tackle him myself. Jesus, that fucker was skinned up from head to toe. I can’t imagine how bad he’s going to feel when he sobers up. I shiver thinking about the possible damage to his, well, body parts. I couldn’t bring myself to look, but if his chest and thighs were any indication, well, he may be in a world of hurt for a while.
Tossing my keys onto the chair next to the door, I step past my tiny living room to my even smaller kitchen. One by one, I toss the mail onto the counter. “Bill, junk, bill….” That is until I see the small, blue envelope with my address handwritten on the front. I glance at the return address. Leaving the rest of the mail on the counter, I move to my old sofa, one I found at a thrift store here in Killeen for fifteen bucks. So, yeah, I got what I paid for. Sitting on the end because it’s the only cushion that doesn’t jab me in the ass with wires, I reach to my left and flick on the lamp.
The little envelope looks delicate, kind of like the handwriting on the front. I smile thinking about what she said about real letters. Now that I have one in my hand, I can see what she means. It’s nice to get something in the mail that isn’t a bill or a bunch of shit that’s just going to end up in a landfill. I lift the thing to my nose, half expecting it to smell like flowers or some shit. Sadly, it doesnotsmell like flowers.
Carefully, I tear off the end of the envelope, making sure not to catch the letter as I do. Blowing so the thing puffs out, I grasp the letter with my first finger and thumb. The paper is the same color as the envelope. I can’t help noticing how thin the paper is. It’s as delicate as the handwriting on the front. Unfolding both pages, I notice she’s written fairly small. She must have a lot to say.
I chuckle to myself.
Not surprising, Matilda was rather chatty. With me, anyway.
The thought of Matilda only talking to me makes my chest puff out a little bit. I’m not sure why, but I like that notion. Maybe it’s because I’m sleep deprived. No matter, I just want to read the letter, grab a beer, shower, then bed. In that order. Working nights sucks, but it’s when most shit hits the fan on-post, so there you have it.
Shaking that off, I stare down at the paper and read:
August 30th
Dear Alec,
Thank you very much for the dog charm. It’s pretty, and it looks great next to the tiger charm. That one still makes me laugh whenever I wear it. I should tell you to stop buying them for me, but why would I do that? It’s fun to get gifts like that in the mail. Keep ’em coming. LOL.
It seems weird to write “LOL” in a letter. I think if I’m going to write a real letter like they did in the 50s, I ought to stick with words they would have used then. Am I right?
