The letter was complete and addressed to the magazine’s main writer.I wasn’t planning on sending it.Sending it would add another layer to it.When I returned from work, I would politely shove it into my binder and forget about its existence until I wanted to reflect on my writing.I tore down the posters of Jesse Young and The Matches from above my bed, using my bare nails to tear the paper into tiny shreds.There wasn’t a need for that type of memorabilia to be in my room.Idolizing people you didn’t know was stupid in the first place.I took down all my records on display and put them in a pile at the top of my closet to tuck away the past.It was time for me to go to work.I left the letter on my desk and hurried to James’s truck because it was also payday.I was impatient in getting my check to finish paying last month’s rent.My momma arranged a payment plan with our landlord, and I had to follow through with our word.
****
When I got home fromwork, I was worn out and dehydrated.My earlier rage had melted like the ice cube in the glass of water I drank.I slurped down the water and yelled at my momma that I was home.I moseyed down our hallway to my room to get changed out of my work clothes when I noticed that the letter on my desk had disappeared.I looked under my desk, on the chair, behind the desk, and on the floor.I still came up with nothing.A letter could not grow legs and walk away.It had to be in the house somewhere.
“Hey, Momma.Have you seen an envelope?It was sitting on my desk before I left!”I hollered.
My momma stuck her head into the doorframe of my room, swinging blonde strings of hair through the door, and tenderly said, “Yeah, I saw it.I put a stamp on it for you and mailed it today.I figured it would save you time, so you wouldn’t have to mail it tomorrow!”
Something in my gut wrenched.
My momma was merely trying to do something good.I couldn’t tell her I didn’t want it mailed because she was fragile.Seeing her walk around the house and fold laundry was an accomplishment, so I imposed a weak smile of appreciation and mustered out the word, “Thanks.”
A day working with the public made a person understand that everyone had their quirks.I was ignorant to think that celebrities and rock stars weren’t perfect.The entire world would see Jesse Young and The Matches in a different light as a consequence of my writing and my momma’s obnoxious kindness.
I couldn’t tell if our mailbox’s flag was raised or not.I wondered if I could save it.I dashed out the front door, through our yard, and arrived at our mailbox out of breath.I put my hands on my knees before I opened the flap.My knees were spotless and smooth.The previous scars faded over the weeks I was home.I flipped the flap open to see the metal box was vacant, and the red flag was down.It was too late.I anticipated the worst outcome as I sat alone on the road’s curb, letting the loose gravel fall through my fingertips.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
On the Rise
Song: You’re So Vain—CarlySimon
July 17th, 1975
I started to forget about the existence of my harmful letter arriving at Zipper Magazine headquarters.I thought that by then someone would have read the letter to decide if it was good enough to release it to the press.Zipper’s silence led me to believe there was nothing to worry about.My writing didn’t captivate Harold Hayes enough, which deflated my confidence in my writing skills, but it was good for my relationship with Jesse Young and the Matches if I ever wanted to reunite our friendship.
Darren contacted Betsy, who called me to say, “Darren misses you and is trying his best to leave the teeny town of Moose Creek to be with you.”She blabbed on and on about all the little things Thomas was failing at doing as her boyfriend.“He’s just not very romantic anymore.I don’t know what to do about it.It might be best if we just go back to being friends.I need a man who will give me butterflies whenever I see them.”
At first, I was uneasy about what their complicated relationship would do to our friend group, but I was one to talk.I had changed every dynamic in our group, and I wasn’t convinced I could go back to Moose Creek.So why did it matter?Betsy was wrong, though.Relationships weren’t about big romantic gestures.They were about the tiny things that added up and the loyalty of choosing to stay with someone despite every outside factor.
Talking to Betsy made me miss Moose Creek.Darren hated living at a boring pinpoint on a map with his demanding father and religious upbringing.Moose Creek meant more to me than that because it was my family’s getaway.Without James, we had no place to visit even if we wanted to.The town did not have a hotel we could rent, and we needed a camper if we wanted to park anywhere we wished.I would miss the cold streams to swim in, the peach merchandise, the townspeople, the days spent playing basketball or hanging out in the park, and the privilege of running around without any threat to my safety.Butterfield was an all right city, with a population exceeding fifty thousand.We had movie theaters, places to hold concerts, multiple city parks, and any restaurant we needed.The bigger population made it less safe and cozy, though.When I desired something new yet familiar, Moose Creek was there for me to fall back on, but it was ripped away from me.I had nowhere to run when life got tedious.
Boy, was life tedious.The only people I interacted with were my momma and co-workers.I was supposed to be having the best summer of my life, but James’s decision to end his life had altered my plan for the future.My emotions were confused.I could go from being vexed at James to devastated, missing him, upset, and then feeling guilty.The process of grieving was complex and was something I was grateful to do on my own terms, even if I was lonely.I understood my grandma in ways I never imagined.The way she would snap and demand attention was wrong, and yet I felt like snapping all the time after James died.
I often checked the magazine inventory at work to see the newest additions of Zipper Magazine.Our work policy said customers could only open a magazine if they bought it because too many people would read the content and put it back on the shelf without paying a dime, so I began buying each monthly copy.I noticed a new edition of Zipper, even though there was already one out for the month of July.
