A “long” short story. Sorry, there aren’t any paragraph divisions, but the original format for which I typed this up (an old ‘zine I used to do called the NCC News, Issue 20) called for it to not be divided as such. I suppose I should explain that this is not really an original story, but one that had been passed to me orally. So this version does have my own “special touches” to it. Feel free to pass this along by word-of-mouth (trust me, it’s more fun that way). Enjoy!
“The Letter”
Jimmy and Bobby were the best of friends. They were born within a month of each other, lived right next door to each other, and naturally grew up together. When they were toddlers, they played in the same playpen. As they grew up, they played cops and robbers together, watched television together, collected baseball cards together, and started school together. On their first day of school, they couldn’t stand to be apart. They sat together in class, played together on the playground, and even had the exact same lunch boxes. As they got older, they stuck together through thick and thin. They took the same classes in high school, played the same instrument in band, went out with the same girls (not at the same time, of course), and got the same grades. They learned to drive together, got their first kiss on the same night, and they even got the exact same tattoo on their butts without their parents’ knowledge. It was no wonder, then, that when Jimmy and Bobby graduated; they immediately took the money they earned from their job (both worked at a local grocery store and insisted that their schedules coincide with one another), and rented an apartment together. The following fall, they started at the same college, taking the same courses. But their lives were soon interrupted by the outbreak of the Vietnam War. As if fate wanted them to stay together, both Jimmy and Bobby were drafted at the same time. They both had their physicals together, and then they were both assigned to different divisions. Jimmy protested to his commanding officer. “Come on,” he said, “Bobby and I have been together our entire lives. We were born a month apart, we’ve always lived next door, we grew up together. We went through school together, got the same grades, shared a car, and even have matching tattoos. If it weren’t for the war, we would be in the same college class right now. I dare say that we love each other, platonically, and that either of us would die for the other. We cannot bear to be separated.” The officer took heart, and was happy to bring Bobby into his division. So, Jimmy and Bobby went through boot camp together, and two weeks later they were shipped off to Vietnam together. Side by side, they fought off the Vietnamese Communists. The rest of their division could have sworn that those two could take on the entire Viet Cong army themselves. Indeed, Jimmy and Bobby were efficient fighters. They would carefully watch for and pick off the enemy, and no communist was safe nearby them. Neither of them was fighting for America, nor were they shooting to save themselves. They fought to save each other. At rest, they would happily recall everything they’ve done together to keep their spirits up. At night, they leaned up against each other to keep from getting their faces full of mud when they slept. But one day, tragedy struck. At the break of dawn, two Charlies happened to stumble upon Jimmy and Bobby’s camp. A spray of bullets immediately flew, and the two enemies were swiftly cut down, but not before getting a couple shots off themselves. In a valiant effort to save Bobby, Jimmy took three bullets to the chest when he leapt between the bullets and his friend. As soon as the gunfire stopped, Bobby cradled his dying friend in his arms. “Bobby,” coughed the dying figure, “Bobby, don’t… This is it for me…” Bobby started crying, “No! Come on, Jimmy! You have to hang on! Somebody call a medical chopper! Come on Jimmy, hang in there!” But Jimmy’s life was swiftly draining from his severely wounded body. “I’m dying, Bobby. But before I go, there’s something I haven’t told you… Something important. I anticipated this day, and I wrote it down.” Jimmy coughed, and a spray of blood shot from between his lips. “In my breast pocket, Bobby… I wrote a letter…” But Bobby refused to let his friend die. “Come on! Hang in there, you’re going to live! Just hang in there, Jimmy!” At that, Jimmy muttered, “I… I… I love you…” and died in Bobby’s arms. Bobby was devastated. Here was his best friend, whom he had grown up with, lying dead in his arms. Bobby held Jimmy’s body closer to him, and cried. When the other men heard sounds of gunfire in the distance, they urged Bobby to leave. But Bobby refused to budge, claiming that life was no longer worth living. His commanding officer reassured him that his life would, and should continue. “It’s what Jimmy died for,” he said. With those words, Bobby slung Jimmy’s body over his shoulder and walked away with the other troops. That night, while they were waiting for a helicopter to arrive and take Bobby and his deceased friend away from the fighting, Bobby reached into Jimmy’s breast pocket and removed the letter. He slowly unfolded it, and braced himself for what was inside. To his horror, he found that Jimmy had written the letter in some strange Vietnamese dialect. Bobby collapsed to the ground in tears, for he was unable to read the letter. His commanding officer approached him, and asked what the problem was. Bobby told him the whole story about how, just before Jimmy died, he said that Bobby needed to know something, and that something was in the blood-stained letter that Bobby was crying over. “But sir, the letter is in some Vietnamese dialect that I can’t read,” he sobbed. “Here, son, let me look at it,” said the officer. “I happen to be quite fluent in various Vietnamese languages.” With that, Bobby slowly handed the letter to his officer, who glanced over it. Bobby looked on eagerly, asking what the letter said. As his commanding officer read through the letter, his jaw dropped, his eyes bulged, and his face turned red with rage. He slowly folded the letter, handed it to Bobby, and very tersely scowled, “The helicopter will be here shortly. Just get on it, and get out of here. I do not wish to see you again.” With that, his commanding officer turned on his heel and stormed off. Bobby was crushed. Here his best friend in the whole world had died, leaving him with this letter of dire importance that he couldn’t read, and his only hope for finding out what the letter said had just gotten extremely ticked off at him. Sure enough, the helicopter arrived shortly, and Bobby and Jimmy’s body was loaded on. Within an hour, the chopper landed at an army hospital, and Bobby was admitted to the psychiatric ward for rest and counseling on this terrible turn of events. The traumatized Bobby could do no more than lie in a fetal position, crying over all his woes. It took a week for anyone to get him to speak. Soon enough, though, Bobby was well on his way to recovery. Every day he spoke to his doctor, telling him of how the two friends grew up together, went to school together, got the same grades, dated the same girls, went to the same college, and entered the army at the same time. Booby sadly told the entire story, up until the point where Jimmy died. One day, the psychiatrist asked to see the letter, which Bobby had refused from the doctor, insisting that maybe by learning what the letter said, it would ease the young man’s pain. “Trust me, I’ve been through similar situations. I’m required by my profession to be objective. Now, let’s see if my Vietnamese classes are doing me any good,” said the doctor, reaching out to Bobby. Bobby reluctantly took the bloodstained slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it off the doctor. After perching his glasses upon his nose, the psychiatrist look down at the letter and proceeded to scan through it. After the first couple of lines, his eyes grew wide. Then his lips tightened together and his face turned red. He slowly folded the letter back up, handed it to the confused Bobby, and walked out of the room. The next day, Bobby was dishonorably discharged and sent back to the States. He was devastated. Bobby never returned to his home. Instead he took to wandering the country, saddened and disoriented by his misfortune. He lived in YMCAs and took whatever odd jobs he could find. It was a couple of years before Bobby ever got a grasp on his life again. It was at this time that he had a steady job in a janitorial position, a modest but comfortable apartment, and he had even contacted his family, but he was still not financially sound enough to pay for a visit to them. Things really started going good for him when he met his girlfriend. She was a young Asian girl, and Bobby loved her dearly. What he was unaware of, though, was that she was the daughter of the man who owned the skyscraper in which Bobby worked. The two soon got married, and then Bobby was on the fast track in his life. His father-in-law quickly saw Bobby’s potential, and he helped Bobby finish college. Bobby swiftly moved up the managerial chain of his father-in-law’s company to the position of vice-president. He also made several visits to his own parents, plus Jimmy’s. Bobby and his wife lived in a comfortably large home with their two beautiful children. Everything was coming up roses for Bobby. One day, Bobby’s father-in-law called him into his office. “Bobby,” he said, “I’m not going to last forever. One day, I will be too old to run this financial empire of mine. And when that day comes, I’d like you to take the reigns, Bobby. You’re like a son to me, you’ve been a great husband for my daughter, and all the employees under just adore you. You’re definitely the man for the job.” Bobby was astonished. He really could not believe the incredibly good fortune his life was filled with. “But,” continued his father-in-law, “I have noticed one flaw in you. There’s something bothering you. I know that you’ve had some rough times before, but you’ve never gone past that. Come on, Bobby, I love you as if I had been your own father. You can tell me anything.” Bobby sighed. It was true that he had never told his new extended family anything about his wretched past, and all they knew was that he had suffered some terrible tragedy. “Well, sir, it’s like this…” started Bobby. He then told the entire story of him and Jimmy. He started with their birth, their schooling, how they ended up in the army together, and everything up until the point where Jimmy was shot. “He died in my arms, but he had written me a letter. It supposedly hold something of great importance that Jimmy had wanted to tell me, but it’s in some strange Vietnamese dialect that I can’t read. My commanding officer read it, and then the psychiatrist at the army hospital read it. Neither of them told me what it said. And so I drifted, wrought with pain, until I met your daughter. And now I’m here.” Bobby’s father-in-law took a deep breath and processed all the information he had been given. He then looked at Bobby with his old Asian eyes and asked,” Do you still have the letter?” Bobby said yes, but he protested giving it to his elder. “All that letter has given me is heartache.” The father-in-law insisted upon reading it for Bobby. “Come on, I was born in Vietnam. Besides, at this moment there is nothing that could sway my love for you. Bobby, I told you that I trust in you so completely that I want you to take over for me when I retire. Whatever is in that letter will not change that.” Bobby slowly, reluctantly opened hiswallet, and pulled out the worn, bloodstained piece of paper. With a shaky hand, Bobby handed it to his father-in-law. The old Vietnamese carefully unfolded it, then started to read it. At first, what was written didn’t phase him. But, very soon, his eyes grew wide with anger. His face turned a deep hue of red. Bobby soon saw that infamous vein pop out of his father-in-law’s forehead whenever he got extremely angry. The old man then calmly folded the letter and handed it back to Bobby. “Get out,” he said. “Get out of my office. Get out of my life. You are fired. Furthermore, I want you to stay away from my daughter and her children. You are not a part of my family; you are not a part of this company. I never want to see you face again.” With that, the old man walked to the window and stared out. Bobby started to whimper a protest, but all his father-in-law did was point angrily at the door. Bobby slumped his shoulders and walked out. He took the elevator to the first floor, and instead of taking his BMW, he elected to walk home. It took him several hours to get there, and by then his wife was extremely worried. “Where have you been?” she cried. “I called Daddy, but he said that you two had a little disagreement, and that he refused to even acknowledge you as existing anymore. What happened?” Bobby told his wife to sit down. He then proceeded to tell her his entire story. He started with telling her about Jimmy, and how they were born at about the same time, how they grew up together, they went through school together, graduated together, went to the same college, and got drafted into the Vietnam war together. He then explained Jimmy’s tragic last moments. “I held him in my arms, and he told me that he had something important to say, but he didn’t have enough time. He said that there was a letter in his pocket for me, then he died. But I never found out what the letter says. It’s in some odd Vietnamese dialect, and whoever volunteers to read it to me suddenly hates me. And that’s why your father kicked me out. He offered to read it to me, and when he did he ousted me. I don’t know what to do now.” His wife asked for the letter, offering to read it to him. Bobby, of course, refused to let her see it, saying that she would just have the same reaction. “Nonsense, dear. I love you. I love you with all my heart. You have been a wonderful father, a more that spectacular husband, and you’re bright enough and young enough to start anew in the business world. Please let me read the letter to you, so that you may put the thought of your friend to rest.” Bobby thought about this, then handed the wrinkled sheet of paper to his beloved wife. She unfolded it, and started reading it. Soon, her eyes grew wider with amazement, then her face turned red with anger. She calmly folded the letter, handed it back to Bobby, and said, “We’re getting a divorce.” Until the divorce, Bobby slept in the guestroom. After the divorce, Bobby became a wandering wreck. His life had been shattered twice now, and that was two too many times than his heart could bear. Without any home or money, he took to a life of drifting again. He meandered across the country, living off the land and out of garbage cans. He met several other hobos, sometimes befriending them, more often not. But he never kept up the friendships, for fear of being rejected again. It was one night that he was at a large camp of tramps, sitting at his own fire while others were gathered in groups laughing and dreaming of what it would be like if times were better for them. It was then that a man about Bobby’s age saw Bobby off by himself, wallowing in his sorrow. The man walked over to Bobby, sat down, and asked, “Why so glum, friend?” Bobby collapsed into tears, whimpering out Jimmy’s name, asking why he wrote that accursed letter. The man sat and held Bobby, comforting him. Others gathered around to offer Bobby their condolences, and soon Bobby stopped crying. “Now, what is your story? Nobody is here without their tale of woes, and nobody can live with the pain without sharing it,” said the man. Bobby sat up, wiped the tears from his eyes, and decided that the man was right. Bobby couldn’t bear the pain alone, and he knew, deep down, that, although it would be far from solving his problems, his life would be a lot easier to bear if he got this off his chest. And so, he stood up and told his story for all that cared to listen. Soon, the crowd melted away in Bobby’s mind, and he was reliving his life. He started with his birth, how his mother first put him in Jimmy’s crib, how they played together every day, how they started school together, took the same classes, dated the same girls, played the same sports, and graduated together. He told them of their short stint in college, and then their being drafted together. He told them of Jimmy’s last moments, and about the letter. He told them how he ended up getting discharged, then how he wandered a bit before meeting his wife. He then told everyone there about his swift jump to the top of his father-inlaw’s company, then his swift fall from power and his agonizing divorce. “All of it,” he concluded, “All of my pain, suffering, and sorrow caused by this.” He pulled the bloodstained piece of paper from his pocket. “This letter, written in some strange Vietnamese dialect by my best friend Jimmy, has been the cause of my sorrow. AND I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE HELL IT SAYS!” With that, he sat back down and stared at the fire. The group gave him a heartwarming round of applause and dispersed, leaving Bobby alone with the man. “I know Vietnamese,” said the man. “I was in the war, too. Let me read it to you. After all, what do you have to lose? I do not know you. Nor do you know me. I have no power over you, nor do I have any chance of seeing you again after this night. Let me read it to you. If it is as horrible as you say, then I shall grin and bear it. I’ll read it to you, then be on my way. Deal?” Bobby thought about this. Here was his chance to find out what the letter said, and then be rid of his troubles for good. He looked at the piece of paper, and slowly started to hand it to the man. But, just as the man reached out to grab the piece of paper, the wind took it, and the letter landed in the fire.
Leap Frog Tag Junior: The kid got this as a Christmas present, and I’ve always been a bit wary of the whole Leap Frog system. Especially coming from an education background such as my own, I am a little wary of toys and games that guarantee, implied or otherwise, to get your child to read. So, the Tag Junior is this hand-held device that one loads sound files onto so that it can read hidden markings in special books and play the appropriate file. Essentially it “reads” the book to her, should she ever sit down to do it herself. And while she likes to play with it and hear it say her name and play music, she still wants me to read the books to her. Well, the one book of hers that actually tells a story, as one is an alphabet book and the other is one on colors. So, at least with my child, it fails as a self-teaching tool, but she does like to play with it. As for reading, she prefers to pick up the old-fashioned books that I read to her and she “reads” those instead.
Trout Fishing In America: This duet out of Texas gets us dancing and leaves us in stitches. We have a copy of their “Family Music Party” album, a live recording, and during the introductory chords they ask the crowd (and the audience at home), “Are you ready to get started?” Oh, yes we are. The kid is up, dancing, and clapping as an immediate response to the question. Their songs are creative, fun, inventive, and clever, from counting in Roman numerals in “18 Wheels on a Big Rig” to the tongue-twisting chorus that they invite everyone to sing along with in “All I Want is a Proper Cup of Coffee”. And they slide in softer songs as well, a break in the jumping and dancing, albeit the pacing of this album can be a bit like a roller coaster. I’ve got an eye on their touring schedule and I’m likely to jump on three tickets if they come to town.
Step Into Reading: We only have one book in these series, Elmo Says “Achoo!”, and that was given to the kid by her grandmother because the main character is Elmo, one of her favorite subjects. But, as a teacher, I like it. We’ve found other books in this series at the library and both the kid and I have loved them. We’ve only been getting Level 1 books, and they’ve all been easy books with engaging stories. The stories move along and have catchy rhythm and rhyme patterns to them, plus clear illustrations that follow the stories really well. It’s something that holds the attention of my two-year-old and wraps up the story before her goldfish-length attention span decides she’s done with it. And when she gets around to actually starting to really read I have the feeling that these will be right up there with Dr. Suess for easy, fun stories to read.
Oliver and Danny and the Dinosaur: What can I say? The kid likes Syd Hoff. I can’t say that I have the same appreciation for him what with his stunted sentences and mind-bending changes in perspective in his illustrations, but the kid loves the guy. It may have something to do with her cousin’s name being in the title of one of his books. But she loves the stories and she follows them with interest, even flipping through the books on her own and “reading” a word or two off each page. Something about Syd Hoff’s style of storytelling has captured her interest, and who am I to argue?
It’s guilty because, quite frankly, I do not have in any forseeable near future the means with which to live in the lush manner put forth in this magazine. It’s published with an affluent audience in mind, one that has the leisure time to read about and discuss current events in a highbrow manner and jetset about the world in first class to see things firsthand. They talk of trips to Tokyo in the same air as one would speak of driving in to downtown for a really nice restaurant. I can honestly say that I’m not really in that league, nor do I ever think that I will be. Hell, even their subscription price is more than the cover price, something that is rare in magazines… Most will entice you to subscribe with a discount. Monocle doesn’t bother, but they do offer a nice tote bag and invites to their office parties. I don’t know whether it’s more preposterous, presumptuous, or pretentious on my part to be reading this.
