Lost Letter Dear Mama

Dear mama,
Trevor went out to the farm today and he was mad. I mean real angry. He cursed the president, the federal government and even God. Can you imagine that? I ain’t never heard nobody curse God before. For a bit I was scared to stand next to him but then I figured God’s probably got a pretty good aim if he wants to.
The barn was gone of course as was the house, well except for the cellar. I told Trevor that at least we still got the cellar, you know, trying to look on the bright side of things. But he said the cellar weren’t nothing but a hole in the ground and a hole is the absence of something, it was worse than nothing. I told him that maybe we could build the new house next to the old one and use the hole as a swimming pool, but he just glared at me and said there wasn’t gonna be a new house.
Most of the corn is gone too, squashed flat. The ground’s been packed tight as cement. It’s gonna take a lot of work to make anything grow here for a while. Out near the end of the step we found his haulin’ truck, where he left it only it was smashed all to bits. Flat as a pancake. I was gonna make a joke about a toe truck, but seein’ how mad he was I just kept quiet.
Anyway it looks like we’re gonna be moving. Donna and Carl said we could stay with them for awhile until we get back on our feet, then we may head up your way. Trevor said he’ll be good God damned if he’s gonna stay in a state with giants, government grants or no government grants.
Anyway take care and write soon.
-Louisa

Lost Letter Dear Dave

I should note that I wrote this 2 years before the current world money situation.



Dave,

It seems like the airconditioning is making more noise than ususal. I guess I could have it fixed but I don't even know who to call. To tell you the truth, it's so old now that I'm not even sure the air coming out of it is any cooler than the outside. Maybe it's just the sound it makes that makes me feel cooler. A memory form a time when it worked, from a time a lot of thing around here worked including myself. I went for a walk today under a sky that felt like being trapped inside a beer bottle. I couldn't help but feel that somewhere up there, just beyond the last gray cloud there was actually a blue sky. Blue, you remember blue? I mean a real pure natural blue. The only blues I see these days are neon and bruises. Do people rust? It looks like everything around here is turning to rust. The cars, the buildings even the homeless guys are getting rusty. I don't think there's enough oil left in the ground to loosen up this town and to stop it from squeaking when the wind blows. You know Gerald's brother has a friend who drives a rig, he say's you gotta go about 400 miles in any direction before it feels like you've gone anywhere. Everything is just brown. He say's there's another hanging highway leading into Atlanta. I guess it's some kind of statement. He showed me a picture he took. These people climb up them really tall light poles they got lining the freeway and hang themselves. This photo just showed miles of bodies hanging in the air, way up there. There's no money to cut them down anymore so they just swing until the rope breaks guess. I heard these people just max out their credit, live like kings for a month or so and then end it as big middle finger to the banks. He had one picture of a guy hangin' in a tee shirt that said "Thanks for the ride." another one said "Coming out ahead, priceless." Seems
like all of them have some witty statement on their shirts. Reminds me of a kind of rotting, hanging Burma shave sign that goes on for miles. Well, you might be to young to remember Burma shave. I gotta go, the cat's at the back door again, I guess he wants me to share dinner again. I could use the company.

-Clemen

Lost Letter DEAR LILY

Dear Lily

It rained again last night as it has for the past twelve nights. Even though the mud it leaves in its wake is of a particularly sole devouring nature (I lost my left shoe to it last Tuesday, if you’ll pardon my little joke.) I think that I shall miss it when and if it stops. It is a constant companion in a time of few friends and drums me gently to sleep with liquid fingers on the roof of this old house. I tell you Lily and I know you will understand, that it’s very strange being back here after all these years. Comforting, yes, but also sad and painfully lonesome. With all the past ghosts living here I’m surprised there’s room enough for me to walk down the hallway. Do you remember that chair railing in the parlor? I was dusting it when I found that spot where you lost your front tooth. Remember? We were playing and I pushed you? Mama got so mad us that day. But seeing that little indentation made me smile.

I saw that Istvan boy the other day. He was running, naked and a jay bird, down that little alley between the old revival church and the rust garden. He didn’t see me though. I must confess that I know I should have felt some shock at seeing this half grown boy out in the streets in nothing but his birthday suit, and I might have been if it weren’t for that…I don’t know what to call it…clacker he was using. He was running back and forth looking in every fence hole and drain pipe shouting some name or other and clacking this wooden clacker. It was an odd sight. But then I suppose it’s to be expected from the child of foreigners. I swear Lily it’s like they don’t even want to learn the rules of this country that took them in and offered them freedom and comfort. Why they just don’t go back to whatever “istan” they came from is beyond me.

Oh but that reminds me. I had the oddest visit the other day. Do you remember Dr. Winslow? Well he’s retired now, but his son Bo took up the calling and is now the town doctor, I suppose this town will always have its Dr. Winslow. It just seems fitting, change is such trying thing. Anyway, as I was saying, Dr. Winslow, the new Dr. Winslow that is stopped by the house just after lunch last Thursday. I thought it was maybe a package I had to sign for or maybe a flower delivery from some secret admirer (As if). But there was the new Dr. Winslow standing under an absolutely monstrous umbrella. He said he was just out for a walk and thought he would check in with some people and see how the rain was treating them. I told him the rain was treating me just fine. I invited him in and we had tea and passed the time in pleasant enough conversation. Then he starts asking me the strangest questions. Like had I seen anything odd at night, outside? Only the rain I said, and that isn’t all that odd, especially at this time of year. He asked if I had seen any lights out there or heard anything unusual. Then he asked if I was sleeping alright. I told him I was. All this time he’s looking at my eyes. Not into my eyes, but at them, although he’s doing it in such a manner that I’m guessing I wasn’t supposed to notice. All those times I thought about how nice it would be to have a handsome young doctor look into my eyes were erased by this rather forward and disturbing behavior. The questions he asked! I shall see if I can remember some of them…Have any strangers come to the door recently? Has anyone tried to enter the house? (I tell you Lily it will be a wonder if I sleep again after that one.) Have I heard any strange sounds like loud sniffing noises outside my door or windows? Have I noticed any strange symbols drawn on any of the doors or windows? Have I heard anyone call my name after midnight? Well I was getting a powerful case of the fright chills and called attention to the late hour and how I had several more chores to do before supper. Oh I know that was a lie, and I do feel badly about saying it, but I was getting scared. The old Dr. Winslow would never arrive at a body’s home uninvited and start asking such questions. Just thinking about them put the devil to work on my poor imagination. You know I have an overactive imagination to begin with, I have since we were children. Remember those stories I used to tell you hangman ghosts and hobo walking shoes? Oh but those were just stories and we would get so scared that we just had to sleep with mama and papa in that big old bed of theirs. But these questions the young Dr. Winslow was asking…they didn’t feel like stories. Anyway, Dr. Winslow apologized for the visit and said that if it was alright with me he would check on me in a few days. Well I have to tell you that it wasn’t alright with me, not at all. But what could I say? It would be rude to say no, so I smiled and nodded my head ever so slightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice. But he did. Doctors are very observant people you know. Almost like detectives.

So now I have had to use the tonic to get to sleep. Yes I know, there’s no need to lecture me and I know you won’t mention it in your return letter. This is a medical use. I need it to sleep. It’s not like it was before, I promise you that. And anyway it’s a different tonic, this is professor Goodsir’s nighttime tonic. He’s a real professor, it says so right on the label. And I don’t care to believe that a learned gentleman like a professor, who after all went through years of school and hard work, would sell anything but the highest quality pharmaceuticals. And besides it tastes like rotten fish so it has to be good.

Anyway, I do have to be going dearest Lilly. Write to me soon won’t you?

Hugs.

-Franny



P.S. I found doodlekins, your old stuffed bear. He was behind the preserves. If you wish I can send him to you. I’m sure you miss him.

Lost Letter DEAR POPE

I ain’t Catholic or nuthing, but my friend Luanne says you got a God on speed dial and there’s something I got to ask him real bad. So I was wondering if maybe you could pass on a message for me? If you’re too busy please tell God that I’ll be praying to him Thursday night at nine pm and again on Friday morning at eleven am (Just in case he missed the first one and doesn’t have a prayer Tivo.)
Anyway, about two weeks ago Peter Raymond asked me to the dance at Hoppner’s and asked if I would wear that blue dress he likes. The thing is, I ain’t got no blue dress and what’s more I never had no blue dress, least not since I was nine and I didn’t know Peter Raymond when I was nine. Now Billi Ferner has a blue dress, I know cause it’s her favorite and she wears it all the time. Now Pope, I don’t know if God already told you all this, but I got to know if Peter Raymond maybe thought my violet dress was blue, or if he’s been seeing Billi Ferner behind my back, because if he has I ain’t going to no Hoppner’s dance with him. The skunk.
My friend Luanne say’s you live all the way over in that country that looks like a boot, so I hope you get this in time. You know that country has always bothered me cause it’s just one boot. Boots come in pairs. Where’s the other boot? It’s not God to just make one boot. Even folks who lose their leg get one of them fake ones so they have something to put the other boot on. I ain’t never seen a person wearing one boot lest they about to put on another…or maybe one of them pirates from the old days who had one boot and a stick on the other leg. But that’s just dumb. How hard is it to carve a foot on that stick so they have something to put the other boot on?
Also I don’t know if they listen to country music over there in Bootistan or whatever it’s called, but there’s this really pretty song about a woman who’s driving down the road with her little baby. Then she loses control of the car and it goes sliding and everyone thinks she’s going to die. But you know what happens? Jesus comes down from heaven and take over the driving and she gets safely home. How come they don’t teach about this in the Bible? I take comfort from this. It used to be that I’d go out and get real hammered on the weekends (and some weeknights) and then I would have to wait for Peter Raymond to give me a ride home because he only drinks beer and I like Jack Daniels, everyone knows that Jack’ll get you drunker ‘en beer. Anyway Now I don’t have to wait for stupid old Peter Raymond, cause if I’m too drunk to drive and it looks like I might crash, I know Jesus will take the wheel and drive me home. It’s like the Lord is my designated driver. Anyway it’s a good song and I think you should give it a listen, it’s by that girl on the singing show.

That’s all for now. Please pass on my message to God and thanks.

- Lisa Jean Hammond

P.S. I just gotta ask. Is it that pointy hat that lets you talk to God? I won’t tell no one, but I just might try making one for myself if it is. I won’t interrupt your talks with God though, I know you was in line first.