"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.

[Susan 🦋]

Oh boy! let me dive into this...pain can be forgotten, but you are right about the fear and anxiety..that never goes away. In fact, that kind of abuse leaves a wound that just never truly heals and shame is the result. That constant struggle to find worth and learn to accept love.. ya, I know a little about that. This write of yours really hit me. Ironically, I actually came across a letter that I wrote in the third grade. It was so painful to read. Such a sadness in this write. Yes, some TIMES..are never forgotten.

[Myra Fellows]

Good evening. Myra's heart here. Upon the retinal signals piecing together the words upon the screen, sharp pangs of sorrow and sympathy began to fill each of my chambers. I tried so hard to beat away each drop of sadness. So much feeling here. Myra placed this story oceanside. The wall of which you leaned upon was the concrete breaker. The cars passed slowly by as you read each line of the letter. She saw you looking out into the dark turbulent sea water with each interjection.
This story was palpable and capable of small arrhythmias.
Myra

[Chris]

I've actually sat on the seawall at oceanside... put wooden railroad ties on sand mounds and let them feed into the concrete firepits and sat by watching the flames shimmer as the waves marched ashore...was one of the lost boys of my time - were a lot of us then...of the time. Memories... Hi Myra.

[...]

Sometimes you just want meat and potatoes. Strange to call it comfort food? I always come back...

[Jennesis]

I really went there with you. There is such sadness here, yet hope as well. I was struck by the line about having things taken away, your dog, your friends, but never your feet. It's like the walking has saved you, been a part of your survival, despite the longing to have a home. And I find it interesting that during one of your walks, you found some shelter in sharing your pain with another. Beautiful write~

[Chris]

I'm glad you went more than a few "thoughts" deep. It said something - thanks.

[Lyn Anderson]

This is both sad and uplifting at the same time. A thought. A turn of kindness in a bitter world.

[Chris]

I'm glad you came by

[DaughterNature]

There's something very beautiful in this, the way you weave the text of the letter in with the speaker's thoughts about his own history. There's a sort of smoothed-over bitterness there under the surface, not quite resignation but something else I can't put my finger on. I think it's very sweet. I don't know that I would label this piece a poem (it seems a little much for even a prose-poem - maybe it's a super-short story?).

I noticed that you tend to title your poems as "*Words*..." Does the ellipsis have a specific significance for you? I took it to mean either that the title was the first line of the poem, or, more likely, that the idea continues both before and after the actual text of the poem.

[Chris]

I can agree to it being a short story, though the original intent was certainly a prose poem... it did grow a little bit however as time shaded the event.

My titles include the pre-prose and subsequent notes and other bits both before and sometimes after the emboldened title. Originally the elipse was meant to show the work was electronically posted or published and then I continued out of habit through these long years.

[Saddam]

Very captured and sensitive piece Sir. I am late but Mary x'mas and Happy New Year.

[Chris]

Good wishes are never late... they always arrive on-time.

[Saddam]

Really. Thank you very much.

[Valentine]

A deep and sensitive write. Not only does it hold the little girls sadness but also your own. There are o many children living with one parent or like up here, grandparents. Most of the children at church live with others. Parents not working, or on drugs, in jail etc. When are these people going to realize just what they have tossed away. Valentine

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i bet it was read....great letter, and i liked this whole scenario with the speaker finding the letter and looking into another's pain...

and yes, there was "was some trash and life's debris"

we find it everywhere, and also find it within ourselves...baggage we carry that we are reminded of when we see the plight of others...but this speaker realized something special...and sent the letter...someone else will read it, someone else will care.
almost like a "pay it forward" type deal.
your writing is always so moving, in one way or another.

[Chris]

Hi Jacob... you ought to call Underhill's show on Friday nights... your work is well worth being heard.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Chris.

[MomzillaNC]

Wow. Absolutely stunning write… So tragic and poignant. I love the way you end with that delicate moment of hope from such a forlorn soul.

NOTES: I love the conversational style.

[Chris]

It was nice having you pause to listen to me... take care.

[MomzillaNC]

yw :)