Prologue: Foreign Correspondence

A Chapter by decemberalways

It was ten after three, and the sun was relentless in the tiny town of Weston, New York. The unusual September heat had left me slightly light-headed as I sat there waiting beneath the shade of my aunt’s porch. A layer of afternoon sweat made my green cotton shirt cling uncomfortably to my skin, yet it was still not enough to make me budge from my post. With nothing better else to do after school than go to the library--and let me tell you, that gets old fast--my days stretched between painting portraits of my aunt’s dog, Georgia, and waiting on those white wooden steps. And on that particular day with an ever-growing dryness in my mouth, I would not allow myself a moment’s relief until I received that letter.

My eyes contently focused on the canary yellow mailbox a few yards away. It taunted me with its lowered red flag and chipped edges of exposed dull aluminum. Determined to speed things along, I imagined time magically advancing in thirty minute intervals as I waited hopefully like a dog for her master.

“Genevieve, come inside this instant,” Aunt Gabby ordered from behind the screen door. I didn’t have to turn around to know that her dark eyes were wearily looking down at me. “This isn’t healthy. The mail will be here soon enough.”

“Exactly,” I said without breaking any concentration. “Even more reason to wait.”

I could feel her growing frustration weighing down on my neck. This was, after all, my daily routine.

“Why don’t you go for a walk then. Sweat away some toxins.”

I knew Aunt Gabby was referring to my weight. Until I moved in with her, I had never paid much attention to my size or even considered myself to be fat. She never approved of my plump little face and liked to occasionally send me not-so-subtle hints that it was time to lose the baby fat.

I ignored her.

“You are an intolerable child,” she said harshly beneath her breath.

Another imaginary thirty minutes passed, and the sound of her sigh announced the white flags of her surrender. “Just come inside as soon as it arrives.”

I nodded.

Aunt Gabby wasn’t very fond of children. In fact, I was able to recall visits with her when I was younger, and they tended to be a tad on the unpleasant side. We didn’t have much in common, and the wider the age gap between her and a child, the more likely she was to ignore them.

In truth, I had spent most of my time attached to my father’s hip just itching to leave her disagreeable moods. I didn’t even know why we had to visit her all together.

It had been really hard to wrap my head around the fact that she was my mom’s twin. My mom had been charismatic, loving, affectionate, and had the most wonderful laugh. Aunt Gabby rarely smiled. But ever since Mom’s death the previous Christmas and a dad M.I.A., Aunt Gabby was home.

Suddenly, I spotted a familiar white truck slowly turning the corner and onto my street. My legs straightened and projected my body toward the end of the lawn. Placing my hands on top of the warm metal box as a buffer, I waited as patiently as any fourteen-year-old could wait.

The mail truck stopped at my house, and I knew it had arrived. The mail man parked directly in front of the house when he had one of my letters. It was his kind gesture; I didn’t have to be tortured by his route which usually started at the other end of the block.

“Afternoon, Genny.”

“Hello, Mr. Gainsborough. Is it here? Is it?” My fingers tapped against the smooth box in delight and anticipation. “Is it?”

“Sorry, kid. Not today,” he said sorting through his beige canvas bag.

My arms dropped to my side in grave disappointment.

“It’ll come.” Mr. Gainsborough assured as he offered me an assortment of mail. “Cheer up.” He smiled and tipped the brim of his off-white sun helmet in my direction. He reminded me more of an explorer on a safari expedition than a man who delivered letters.

I reluctantly took the stack and began to thank him until I noticed my name in shotty cursive. The mail I had been waiting for was finally in my hands!

“I couldn’t help myself,” he laughed proudly at his brief deception.

“Oh, my God, thank you!” I squealed in delight and made my way inside the house. There wasn’t any time to waste with scolding the man for teasing me"there was an envelope to open.

Aunt Gabby was sitting in the sun room conquering her latest crossword puzzle as I stormed in and landed onto the plastic-covered couch. Sitting with my legs folded underneath me, I ran my fingers along the black ink that spelled my name and new permanent address and wondered how slow it had to have been written in order to be legible.

"Shoes, Genny," Aunt Gabby warned without lifting her eyes off her puzzle.

Kicking my shoes off my feet, I wiggled my way deeper against the squeaky floral maroon sofa.

Dear Genevieve,

How are things on the other side of the pond? It is so boring here without your incessant scheming. August isn’t nearly as much fun for company as you are. Although, I hardly see him as it is anyway"he spends most of his free time with the tutor to keep up with his studies. School, in general, is as you would say “the pits.” Luckily, Graham makes for decent company.

I did get your scrapbook in the post. You really do have a lot of free time on your hands. I’m just kidding! It’s brilliant. My only complaint is that there are far too many photos of me"there should have been more of you.

Thank you for asking about my parents. Mother is the same as always, and Father has been away on business for nearly a month now. You know, the life of a real estate tycoon.

How are you getting along with Aunt Gabby? Be nice, Genny. She is family.

I do have some interesting and possibly exciting news for you. I’ve met someone"don’t get too excited about it. It’s fairly new. Her name is Sylvia and is actually a friend of Graham’s. I hope that you’ll one day meet them both.

Mother insists that we spend the holiday with her side of the family. So, we will be reunited at Gardencliffe this winter! (That is, if Aunt Gabby allows it. Ha! I am sure she will.) Be prepared for some excessive tomfoolery.

-- E. Fox

P.S. Happy birthday. (I know you thought I had forgotten.)

Happy Birthday. I had to think about that for a bit. My summer days were nothing more than a blur of boredom; I had forgotten it was almost my birthday. But there was no time to think about it, because I had to wrap my head around the idea of Ethan with a girlfriend? My heart raced as I reread the letter over and over again. Days of constant porch lurking were endured for news of a girlfriend?

A reply had to be written immediately.

“Well?” Aunt Gabby asked impatiently. She had put her pen down and was waiting for a summary of my letter. “What wonderful news does August have for you?”

“This one is from Ethan,” I said quietly, folding the letter and tucking it back into the envelope.

“The brother? Isn’t he eighteen and far too old to be writing thirteen year old girls?”

“I’ll be fifteen next week,” I quickly corrected her.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said curtly, continuing her puzzle"no longer interested in my letter.

“And Ethan is seventeen.” I left out that he would be eighteen before Thanksgiving. As if it had mattered anyway. I had known Ethan Fox since I was ten.

“I see,” Aunt Gabby slowly said, distracted by her puzzle.

Those two words were always unnerving when they came from her mouth.

While my aunt was on her game, I took it as my opportunity to leave. I stood up from the uncomfortably stiff sofa and ran toward my room.

“Where are you off to now?”

Already at the base of the stairs, I yelled “Up to my room to write!” over my shoulder, forcefully batting away tears.

Upon entering my room, I reached for a large stationary box my dad had given me before abandoning me at Casa de Gabby. It was a beautiful little oceanic blue thing covered in sea shell prints that reminded me of my mom. Sifting through an assortment of colored sheets of paper, I picked out a pale blue one perfect for replying to foreign correspondences.

September 21

Hello Ethan,

First, I would like to address your current state of boredom. You don’t know boring until you’ve lived with Aunt Gabby. That’s for sure.

Now that’s out of the way, I was so excited to get your letter! I’ve been waiting for it like a crazy person. I’m sure Aunt Gabby is ready to commit me.

How is August? I miss you two so much. I’m glad your cousin, Graham, is filling my shoes as best friend. I wish there was someone over here for me to hang out with. It gets really lonely and painting can only comfort me for so long. I’ve started to bake things, but we’ll see how that goes.

There is this one girl named, Alexis, that just moved in next door. She is in a few of my classes and seems nice, but we’ll see. She has lunch with me, but I don’t see her much out of school.

Winter break is too far away"I don’t know how I will make it through completely Ethanless until then. I really do miss you.

Is your mom planning her next big gala? Dare I say that I miss them?

Thank you for remembering my birthday. I actually forgot all about it.

I’ll see you during winter break.

Love Always,

Genevieve

My letter wasn’t as well written as Ethan’s nor did it mention any congratulatory commentaries on his new dating endeavor. I didn’t care. I believed that if I didn’t acknowledge it in pen, then there was a chance it wasn’t even a reality.

With Ethan’s letter in hand, I made my way to my bed and curled up against the soft white pillows I had brought with me from my house in Dutton. My feelings were hurt as I read his letter one last time. Sylvia? Graham? It was too much to bare. Everyone I cared about had left me.

Blotting my cheeks with tissue I grabbed from my bedside, I longed to find myself in error, hoping there was something missed or imagined. But there was no mistake in and the only fantastical thing was my denial. So, I lied there with great forlorn and self pity that could only be felt by a teenage girl and allowed myself to cry.

It had only been two months since Ethan and I were together at Gardencliffe where I had regrettably failed to give into my hormone-induced impulses and confess my true feelings for him. His brother, August, who was exactly my age, had gently"and rather wisely for his years"explained that I should not wish for the what-ifs with Ethan. Unfortunately, I incessantly dreamed of them.

After half-an-hour of uncontrollable blubbering muffled by a now tear-soaked, drooled-on pillow, I slid off my bed and sat back at my desk. I reached into the blue box and picked out a fresh sheet.

Dear Ethan,

I look forward to seeing you this winter.

Always,

Genevieve

I wrote Ethan’s address on the matching blue envelope and folded my letter, stuffed it inside with my over-exaggerated grief, and sealed them both. It was time to give up on foolish longings. I packed away my pretty little pages of stationary and stuffed them back in the box beneath my bed.

“Enough,” I grabbed Ethan’s crumpled letter from my bed and watched it fall into the trash bin beside my desk, nodding to affirm the pact I had just made with myself.

I never waited on those porch steps again.