Annie is horribly damaged by life.
She believes she cannot be loved.
Then Bud becomes her pen pal
and love finds them both...
in one way or another.
Every few days I will post a little more.
Soon you will be able to read it all.
If you absolutely can't wait to find out
what happens between Annie and Bud,
(and I hope you can't!)
you are welcome to click a link and buy an e-book or a paperback copy.
And now, today's post:
CHAPTER 4
Received Friday, August 6, 2004
I’m sorry to here you don’t want a penpal. That makes me
sad. Benie was a great freind and his now gone. He said lots about you he said
you were a nice guy. You don’t sound it in your leters. Mabe you are just
hurting now and will be nice later. I hope so. Bennie said if I ever needed
something, emotional support like that and he wasn’t there you would be good. I
think you are greiving now, so never mind riting me. Maybe someday you will
fill better and will rite me so I can know you are doing good and so I can
learn more about bennie. God bless you Bud.
Your freind,
Annie
Obviously, Annie was one of those people who could not take a
hint, no matter how direct it was.
I suppose I could have ignored her until she gave up, but that
wasn’t in my nature. You know those jerks at school that pushed around the
weaker kids? They had power because their victims gave it to them. The torment
would start, and the victims would cower, slink away, or ignore the abuse,
which just made the bullies meaner. I refused to play that game. Any time
someone started pushing me around, I stepped in closer. I never backed up from
anybody. As a result, I got a fat lip from time to time, but no one bullied me
twice because I was no fun.
Ignore the letters? Not this boy. It was time to step in closer.
The next morning, I made my way through the sluggish Saturday
traffic to a bookstore next to the Valley Mall. I bought two books. The first
was a dictionary. The second was a tenth-grade text on composition. I then went
home and composed a letter.
Written Saturday, August 7, 2004
I tried to be subtle, but you must be immune to that, so let me
make this simple. I don’t want to be your pen pal. However, if you insist on
writing back, at least learn how to spell. To help you, I’ve enclosed a
dictionary. Also, sentence structure matters. Read the other book to learn what
that means.
Bud
I put the books in a box, sealed it shut, put the letter in an
envelope, addressed it, taped it to the box, and drove to the post office. It
cost me a bundle to send the box to Boston, and in all honesty, the whole thing
felt a bit passive-aggressive, but my ego insisted it was worth every penny.
More than two months went by. A hot August became a gorgeous
September became a crisp October, and I forgot about Annie. My star was rising
in the hanger industry, Jolene and I were in a committed relationship, and life
was good. Good, that is, until one day after work when the apartment manager
knocked on my door. As with most apartment managers, mine receives packages for
the tenants who are not at home, delivering them in person later. When I
answered the knock, my manager handed me a box with an envelope taped to the
top – the exact same box I had sent to Annie.
“Who do you know who lives in Boston,” he asked.
I rolled my eyes in reply. Great. Just great.
The way I had it figured, Annie had opened the box, been offended
by the books, stewed over them for several weeks, then repackaged everything
and sent it back, accompanied by a scathing letter of rebuke. That thing sat on
my kitchen table for three days. Several times I picked it up but put it down
again unopened. I had been a jerk, and even though my policy is to never back
up, I was hesitant to experience the written tongue lashing I deserved.
Fortunately, I had people in my life who never let me settle for cowardice.
Father Joseph Gabrelli, for instance, at the church where I grew up and where I
still attended.
On Sunday, Papa Joe, a term of affection used by almost everyone
in his flock, preached on Isaiah 41:10, which says “Do not fear, for I am with
you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.”
He hit the point hard, as though he was talking directly to me,
and he was right. I was acting like a coward. It was time to stop the silliness
and open that package. After the usual post-church brunch with my folks, I went
home and did just that, starting with the letter taped on top, written in the
now-familiar chicken scratch.
Received Saturday, October 9, 2004
Dear Bud,
Thank you for your thoughtful gift of the dictionary and the
text book which you sent to me. I put them to good use as you can see plainly.
I have checked the spelling of every word I write. I haven’t yet finished the
text book because it is really thick but I hope my sentence structure is better
to your liking now. I also thank you for inviting me to continue writing with
you and I except your invitation. In the same spirit in which you sent the
books in I am sending a book to you to help you too. I look forward to hearing
how it helped.
Your potential pen pal,
Annie
Feeling relieved, and a touch ashamed, I ripped opened the
package. Sure enough, it was a book, though not either of the two I had sent.
Taking it out of the box, I read the title, and broke into my first belly laugh
since Bennie died.
It was Emily Post’s The Guide to Good Manners, Children’s
Edition.
