Deborah Owen: Letters

Deborah Owen is the CEO and founder of Creative Writing Institute, which is presently hosting its fourth short story contest for beginners. Find details at http://www.CreativeWritingInstitute.com.

Letters

Mom let out a bellow, as she always did when I knocked on the front door. “Come in, child. Give your mother a hug,” she said, speaking of herself in the third person. “Why don’t you come more often?  When my Momma was alive, I visited her four times a week.”

“Yes, Mother, but she lived a hundred feet from your back door. I work full time and live 15 miles away.”

“Makes no difference. You could if you wanted to. Well, never mind. Have a seat while I finish the dessert. Did you know I made desserts for Momma and did her laundry when she was my age? And took her to the grocery store? Yes, sir. I took care of her.”

“Yes. I remember. I also know she abused you as a child and you spent your life trying to earn her favor.”

“I’ll pour some tea,” she said, changing the subject. “What do you hear from your fancy young man?”

“He transferred to San Francisco six weeks ago. He’s very busy.”

“Oh yeah. He’s busy all right. Sailors are always busy, chasin’ every skirt they can find. I dated a sailor once. His name was Alonzo. Alonzo Franklin. Have I told you about him?”

“Many times.”

She stared out the window, still holding the steaming tea pot in her hand.

“He had the most beautiful wavy red hair and sea blue eyes. When I looked into those eyes, I felt like I was drowning. He was 6’ tall and a lean machine. I always liked tall men. He said I was beautiful, and I was. But he… “

My mind wandered as mother’s treble voice raked the air.

When did she quit laughing? When I was little, she sang, sniffed flowers, and fed the birds. The letters always made her happy. Every time a letter came, I got a piece of candy if I didn’t tell Daddy – and then one day they quit coming. She cried all day and pouted all night. That’s when she changed.

My mouth fell open as reality hit me.

“I wish you could’a known him,” Mom was saying.

“Known who?”

“Alonzo. Haven’t you been listening? You’re just like your father. You never listen to anything and then you wonder why… “

As her voice trailed on, I remembered the mysterious shopping trips when she returned without packages. Daddy didn’t seem to care.

Alonzo! Of course! And she hates my boyfriend because he’s a sailor. Jason isn’t like that. He has inherent goodness, good upbringing and manners. He loves me.

My ears perked when she used his name.

“Mark my words, young lady, that Jason of yours is chasing tails in every port. Just mark my words. One of these days you’ll get a Dear Jane letter and that, as they say, will be the end of that. When was the last time he wrote you? Huh?”

“Four days ago, but that doesn’t mean anything.”          

“Uh-huh. You’ll see. Mothers are always right. You’ll see.”

I wondered what I would have looked like if I were Alonzo’s child. I might have had a huge beak and a mole on my nose. Maybe I would have been born wearing a sailor’s cap. I would definitely have red hair.

I do have red hair. Wavy red hair. Why am I the only one in the family with red hair?

“Mother?”

“What.”

“Why am I the only child with red hair?”

“How should I know? You’re a throwback to some relative that had red hair.”

“But… is it possible… “

“Well, out with it, child. What’s on your mind? You’re just like your father. He couldn’t form a sentence without trying it out two or three ways.”

“That’s not true. Dad had a Master’s degree and he taught public speaking at the college.”

All the way home, I rotated the pieces of the puzzle. Snatches of sentences formed in my mind: “One of these days you’ll get a Dear Jane letter. Just you wait and see.” “I always liked tall men.” “You’re just like your father. He couldn’t form a sentence without trying it out two or three ways.”

And I liked tall men, too. Maybe because I’m 5’9”. Dad’s only 5’8” and Mom’s a shrimp. I’m the only tall and lanky child. Mom never threw anything away. She would still have the letters. I had to find them. Was Alonzo still alive? How could I find him?

I pulled into the drive and unloaded the mailbox. Bills and more bills… and a letter from Jason. My heart hammered as I ripped one end, but Mom’s voice sliced its way into my cranium: “One of these days you’ll get a Dear Jane letter. Just you wait and see.”

I laid the letter on the table and stared at it through blurry eyes. Danny, my black angora cat, curled around my legs and purred. I picked him up and cried in his fur.

“Why does she always have to be right, Danny? She rants and raves, and sees the worst in people. God, forgive me, but I hate her. I absolutely hate her. She’s despicable, manipulative, overbearing, rude, cynical, selfish, demanding, and downright mean. She puts me on guilt trips that I can’t escape and every time I go see her, I’m sorry I went.”

The tide rolled for an hour. I buried my soul in mundane tasks, but the letter kept staring at me. Tomorrow would be soon enough to read the bad news.

 

 

Two thousand miles away, Jason strolled the streets of San Francisco with both hands pocketed, staring at the cracks in the pavement as they passed.

“Hey, Jase!” someone hollered. A fellow sailor ran to catch up.

“Hey, Johnson. Thought you were visiting the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“Yah, well, I wuz, but then I met this babe and my plans suddenly changed. Hey, dude. I heard you broke the news to your girlfriend. How’d she react?”

“Don’t know. I couldn’t tell her on the phone so I wrote a letter. She probably got it today.”

“What a chicken.”

“Guilty, but I express myself better in writing. Heard you’re shippin’ out for Tokyo tomorrow.”

“Yup. Can’t wait. Geisha girls, here I come! Well, gotta run, man. Keep yer chin up.”

“Yeah. Take care.”

A storefront mirror called for a pause. Jason adjusted his Navy hat, and stared back at himself through bold, brown eyes. Proper eyes. Educated eyes. But mostly lonely eyes. He thought of the gorgeous Victoria, whose flaming red hair fell halfway down her back and shimmered in the sun. Her blue eyes were hypnotic.

He lay awake all night, not knowing that she was awake, too, spilling tears over red, puffy eyes. Jason looked at the clock. Three in the morning, and at exactly that moment, Victoria walked to the kitchen, picked up the letter and tore it to bits. After a fitful sleep, she retrieved it from the trash and pieced it together. It was short and to the point.

 

My dearest Victoria, I don’t know where to begin. A tear fell onto the page. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and that’s why I haven’t written.

The nights are lonely and long. I can’t go on like this, wondering if I’ll lose you to someone else, or if someday you’ll tell me it’s over. I just learned that I’ll be stateside for at least a year. How I yearn to hold you in my arms and press your tender lips to mine. Will you marry me? Now? I’ll send for you immediately and we’ll elope. There’ll  never be anyone else for me. I’ll love you and care for you the rest of my life. Please call me. Say yes.

All my love,

Jason