"I Found A Letter..."

This is an older piece... but some days and times are MEANT to remember "older" bits of us - ya know?  26 Dec. 2020

"I Found A letter…"

     It was already a long day and the cold just wouldn't let up.  Even a couple of foot-miles wears on you… ya know?  So I started looking for a place, saw the lil niche in the old stone wall.  The breeze carried a damp cold, the kind that inveigles and bites and if I sort of hunkered-down I knew it would pass me by and look for another victim - at least for a little while.

     It wasn't much - as shelters go, but it was MINE, at least for the moment - ‘til I moved on as I always have.  There was a bit of trash and life’s debris there along the base of the wall.  Wind-pressed and strewn into place, a near hardscrabble pile of oddments and old brown and broken leaves mixed with cigarette butts, and the odd bit of Styrofoam, paper and even the shimmer of plastic.  I poked at the mass with my walking stick to clear a space and damn… I uncovered it… a single, tightly folded, many-creased, dirt and time crumpled-wrinkled sheet.  Scrawled in age-spread-and-faded ink was something… something I couldn’t quite make out - a name?  Yeah, a Mr. and Mrs. and some sorta address.

     Yes, sigh, I just had to bend down and pick it up and then finish clearing the ground.  I sat - my back to the wall, drew my knees up, then leaned my stick against the wall.  A lot of thoughts were flooding my mind as I slowly unfolded and gently straightened that sheet of paper.  My eyes sort of unfocused, that happens more often now, guess it's a 'getting older' thing and I just sat for a bit - seeing but not really 'seeing' that bit of ‘nothing’ held in my hands.

December,

"Dear Santa, "

     …it began… and I remembered being ten and my pride at just how SMALL I could print with a sharp pointed pencil and still have it readable and I never needed lines - somehow my letters stayed straight and ordered across seas of white space - row after row after row.  It was like entire books on a single sheet - paper was hard to come by sometimes… you HAD to save it for school stuff.  I even filled the margins of used paper.  I had so much to say then… and it was all lost along the ways… living, surviving, moving along ‘til it’s all a second nature.  Eventually you learn to hold it in, where it won't be lost.

~ "Mary is my sister and she asked me to write you for her.  She's too little still to write.  We talked it over and all she really wants for Christmas is to go home.  She's been good all year, really she has and Dad was layed off "~

…from Anchor Motor Freight.  It was just yet another eight months of seldom enough of anything, a lot of cold, hurt and shame.  I was angry but then again it seemed everyone was angry… They gave away my dog.  I walked a lot, seems I've always walked a lot - God never took away my feet… just my friends.  I had so many 'homes' getting to eighteen, even a farm once.  I remember each for what was lost… and innocence never counted.  I learned to dream… things are good in dreams you know, even nightmares have a certain pride of ownership.

~ "and he got real angry at mom and us and went away.  Mary misses him a lot and promises not to ask for anything anymore." ~

     Seems we always ask too much - somehow.  Among the worst is "Why?" and the answers seldom help.  You can forget physical pain - how it feels, how much it hurt, its sharpness, the sting, and the after ache.  You forget the tears.  But you can never forget the fear you felt or the words that were said.  Sometimes you can face the fear - eventually, even forgive the words, but you NEVER forget they were said… no matter how hard you try. 

     You have to LEARN how to feel ashamed - it doesn't come naturally.  Lessons take time (often years) and they're seldom earned - just given over and over ‘til you BELIEVE.  I believed for a long, long time - hell of a habit to break, believing something, ya know?

~ "Santa, she believes and she said please too."

"Sincerely Yours,
Sean and Mary ~ "

     … and yes I know I shouldn't have unfolded that single sheet and looked within another's hurt at my own.  It isn't fair, it just isn't fair… some 'times' never seem to change regardless of all the years in between; but damn, its always real - ya know?

     I mailed Mary's letter… maybe it was read by their grandparents or maybe just a time-kindened Santa and she got to go home… but I never did.

Chris

Author's Note

An older piece, feel free.

Reviews

[Einstein Noodle]

poignant and deeply sad setting scene and characters .. lives all wrapped in a chapter .. in one soiled wrinkled letter opened by sympathetic hands ... so sad sir! killer closing .. i feel the weight of those children and your "walker" ... this line:
"Wind-pressed and strewn into place," .. love it! just like the lives of your characters .. very very sad .. i feel the weight of this one sir!
E.

[Thomas W Case]

Tremendous work Powerful emotion.

[Chris]

I've also paused with yours... and even listened. You understand how it all is - and that's as real as we can be. Thanks for coming by.

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you so much. I agree.

[Betty Hermelee]

A sad, nostalgic piece of sorrow, drifting, homeleeness, frightening memories about...of wanting to come home, but could not; father abusive, leaves home....such pitiful people set in this scene; , real...you're watching a play reality before your eyes..."some things never change"....it's madness to forgive words that make you ashamed....maybe Mary got to go home, but you did not.....Sometimes I think you may have been in foster homes....in any case a poignant write....
Warmly, B

[Chris]

It's been said to "write of what you know." Life experience adds depth to one's perceptions and understandings. Also, be observant and listen, help when you can ...hold judgement. But I digress. "Life is as we live it, seldom how we want it."

[Betty Hermelee]

I agree with you on "life is as we live it", no judgements.
warm,y. B

[Chris]

Thanks for pausing with me Betty. Take care.

[Emily B]

Oh, heavy thoughts for a quiet day. My blind mother hoarded childhood photo albums like dragons gold. We couldn't even glimpse at them when my brother died and i was trying to find a happy memory. A few months ago she started talking about me taking them. And I realized I am now just really frightened to turn those pages. I'm afraid to see the eyes on my young face and know I can't do much for her.

We go there tomorrow. Today, maybe my mini me will come by for a minute and we'll play some games.

[Mk.t.g]

Really enjoyed this one, Chris!
Mk.t.g

[Coyote Poetry]

A wonderful story in the poem. I enjoyed the complete tale my friend. Happy New year and thank you for the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[Chris]

John - if my memory (shabby as it often is anymore) serves - I wish you and yours the gentlest of Christmas' and the best of New Years... Chris

[Coyote Poetry]

Happy New year dear Chris.

[Stephany]

It is the delicate details that allow this to touch the heart of the reader. The little bits, even if we had a much different childhood, that bring forth our conscious and let us feel for a moment. Anything more maybe too uncomfortable, just how lucky we are and how much we would give anything to make sure that little girl got home for Christmas. It is brilliant how you draw the reader in by weaving your own tale.
Thanks for letting me read this

[Corset]

re-read today and the same ache as the first time, there's no place like home is there? Some peeps never find a true home but they will always long for it.

[Chris]

How are you? Keeping busy in that office?

[Corset]

eh, not so much now. I do need to get busy somewhere though, lol. Hope you have an amazing day!

[Chris]

You ARE thought of...so be safe.

[barleygirl]

I was mesmerized all the way thru. This is impressive & inventive! It's not easy to intertwine two trains of thought like this, but you do it clearly & with meaning. One of the best things of yours I've read so far. I especially loved the part where you describe how you used to write when young, saving paper, writing in the margin, etc. We cut up paper with a blank side to make notepads. The world is so wasteful today. This story symbolizes the frugality of feelings, as well as the times (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Unspoken poet]

There is truth in your words, I really enjoyed this write.

[Relic]

There's truth in this. I've read that things that happen to us in our early years often mold us for the future. We still carry pain, hurt and shame into our adult years in some way that shapes our decisions and outcome.

This is a sad one but written in a way that can affect the reader and make them think.
Great writing, Chris.