Letting Life Lead
Good Afternoon, this is Casey at WRIC in the morning.
I’ve got something unusual for you today rather than
our usual Q and A. My boss is giving me the side eye.
Hey, Jack, how you doin’? I might get fired after signing
off but– Oh, I gave him a thumbs up and he’s scowling
at me. I will placate him with Thin Mints later. I’ve this
letter, I’d like to read to you written by a good friend of
mine to the men in her life.
I thought I saw that red logo last week. You know the one for the job I applied for. What was it doing on your laptop, I wondered. I wouldn’t have payed it any mind, except when I walked by you asked me if I needed any help. Since when in all our years together have you offered to do anything with the laundry except make the pile bigger? I’m not a professional snoop so I sought the services of Geek Squad. Not sure how it happened that I have a pair of shoes older than the genius young lady behind the counter. It was no trouble she said. I had the documentation, you see? I keep everything about the electronics — never know when you’ll need to cash in that repair warranty. Even then, I tried to talk myself out of it. Once you know at thing you can’t unknow it.
Damn thing stared right at me. You wrote a no “thank you” and sent it off. You turned down a job I wanted and didn’t expect to get on my behalf and allowed me to wallow in my self-assurances that I didn’t have hope of getting it anyway. And all this before you shamed me for admitting to you about having conflicted feelings about my friend, Ben, as if my confession of passing thought was admission to an — I don’t know. Happy thoughts?
When our son was little I used to take him up to the fancy park at the Four Points, that posh neighborhood. He used to let me hug him every day and smother him with kisses. He’s too busy these days dealing with his hormones and sneakers. Pity he’s turned into a snot. That’s partly my fault though by surrounding myself with apathy, I drowned my son in it. Who am I other than the maid-of-all-things. Does he know anything about me? I am not sure I remember much about me. I only wanted to go someplace where I Iast felt good.
I met Ben one of those days, just two people trying not to look like kidnappers while feeding pigeons popcorn and stale bread. Just talk. It was nice to be remembered, to have someone pick up a conversation where we left off, to share something new, and to smile when I waved hello. When he asked me what I missed most about being young, I said, “Playing pinball.” He invited me to play in the afternoon and I enjoyed myself. Sue me. Our hands brushed. I felt guilty. Seems stupid now. But I confessed and you broke me.
Until I saw what you’d done.
And for what? You don’t love me but can’t stand for me to have anything other than you? Not going to fight you about the house. You can handle a seventeen year old boy, I’m sure. He can’t hate me much more, but maybe he’ll come around. I hope there’s still time. I’ve found a nice small place where what I do stays done and I can figure out where I went. Maybe I’ll fail, but at least I’ll have found the other me.
writing, traveling, and tap dancing around town.
The place where all the things I write live
Writer and procrastinator
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