welcome readers & writers!
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today's photo is of a letter we found in our gutters. it was sent from australia to an address in minnesota. no clue how it got, unopened, to the gutter of our street in austin, tx... but it could make a great story! writers, come write with me. submit your short story, poem or creative non-fiction (300ish words or less) by clicking on comments below.
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i'm back! sorry for the delay... been working hard over here at my paying job :) my contribution for this picture is below. stay tuned for a special guest post tomorrow - by the all around wonderful author Kathryn Magendie whose blog you can find here.
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The letter was burning a hole in Sasha's purse. She'd tucked it there after checking her mailbox on her way out the door to the airport. She'd been expecting him to write. In fact she'd been pining away for nearly a year - checking the mailbox two and three times a day, even if the mailman had already been there. She'd lain for hours in her bed, unable to sleep, forming what words he would write, constructing each sentence in the way she thought he would say it, hearing each word whispered aloud, in his honeyed Aussie lilt. But his letter had never arrived, and she'd almost given up for good. Today of all days, the day before Thanksgiving, she found the letter in her box. She didn't have time to read it right now, or she'd miss her flight to Austin. Maybe she'd read it on the plane. And then again, maybe not. Maybe she didn't care what he had to say anymore. You don't tell someone you love them, that you'll be back soon, that you'll bring them out to see you, and then drop off the face of the earth for the better part of a year. A tear overflowed its pool and trickled down her face. Maybe she'd just toss the letter out the window of her brother's jeep and move on with her life. Just. Maybe.
Dear James,
ReplyDeleteThis will be such a difficult letter to write. I'm not sure whether I should begin with all the explanations, or just direct myself immediately to the heart of the matter. I suppose directness is the proper approach. I retract my letter of three days ago telling you I would not come to America to marry you. I will be on the plane arriving at the International Falls Airport next Tuesday, on flight 714 at 2:37 PM. I am so terribly sorry to have caused you discomfort by my previous letter, please understand that I was confused and did not fully know my own heart at that time.
As you knew when you were here and we were courting, I was torn between you and Mickey. You were just marvelous to have been so understanding, and it made me love you all the more that you were. I confess to have been seriously torn between you two, I was not just playing games, it was very hard for me. Mickey is such an incredible lover, he makes me feel things it makes me blush just to think about, and can keep me in the raptures of extraordinary intimacies for just hours and hours. I sometimes think I had become addicted to him, his skills and wantonness were a magnet as powerful as heroin. Well, I've only used heroin two or three times, but honestly, Mickey was even better.
After you left, I must confess again I holed up with him in a little motel right outside of Broken Hill for a week and aside for the occasional meal of actual food, and a few jugs of Irish, we did nothing that whole time but hump each other until we were exhausted, then sleep, shower and go right back to it again.
It was about midway through that week I became so delirious, so sated with carnal pleasure that I wrote you that dreadful letter. But by the time the week was out I came to realize that I felt nothing at all for Mickey, except, of course, the delicious fondling of - him, and that indeed, you were a man of compassion and substance and character. And so I write this letter, and just know that you will find me a hard working housewife on your little pig farm, and I will indeed be in your arms, where I belong on Tuesday next.
Love,
Charlene
Wow. The mystery of that letter ending up in your gutter is intriguing indeed!
ReplyDeleteWill you send it on to its rightful owner?
(also, with these kinds of mailing mishaps, I often think of Neumann on Seinfeld. ;)
Be careful when you clean your gutters. This is usually a metaphor but in this case, it cost me my home, my family and nearly my life. And it all started the cool fall day I went up on a ladder and swept out my gutters. Going up on your roof if both invigorating and nerve racking. You feel like you might fall off with each gust of wind, but you also have this wondrous view and sense of abandon. I pretty much lost all that by the second hour. Mainly, I was focused on finishing the job before the sunset. It was getting darker and colder and I hurried along. In those last moments of my old simple life. And then I found something white and odd. An envelope buried in the muck and the leaves. It was pretty worn and deteriorated, but I gingerly pinched a corner and lifted it out.
ReplyDeleteThe letter came from Australia and was apparently bound for Minnesota when it took a side step into a Texas gutter. I stuck it in my tool bag and finished up the cleaning. Down the ladder I pulled it out and looked again at my found treasure wondering what was inside. I had the sudden thought that it was a felony to open someone else’s mail. Sure wish I had leaned into that one a bit more. Instead, I showed it to the kids and Ann, my wife. We decided to open it. We read it. Then we packed to run.
Chuck & FilmGuy - Thank you for writing with me! Creative responses both :)
ReplyDeleteLola - Love the Neumann connection :) LOL on that one. And I do promise to forward the letter to its intended recipient. Thanks for stopping by!