“Just shoot me, Liz!
Go ahead and get your dad’s gun and put me out of my misery.” I flopped down on my best friend’s bed. Liz followed me into her bedroom.
“Jennifer, what on earth is wrong with you?”
“I am in the deep dark depths of despair.”
“That’s good alliteration. I should write that down for our English
assignment,” said Liz.
“Don’t tease me.
I’m miserable. Has anyone
invented a time machine?”
“I’ll Google it.
What year do you want to go back to?”
“Just three days,” I groaned. “Three days
is all I need! How could I have been so
ridiculously stupid?”
Liz sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sounds like you can use a good hug.” I sat up. Liz wrapped her arms around me and
patted me on the back. “Now is that a
little better?”
“No. Well,
OK,” I allowed. “Maybe a little
better. Thanks.” I stood up and walked over to the bedroom’s
wall. “Would your parents mind if I
banged my head against your wall?”
“Alright, Jennifer, that’s enough drama. Save it for your big role in the senior class
play.” Liz stood up and walked to her
desk. “I’ve got homework to do. If you want to tell me what’s bothering you,
I’m here to listen. Otherwise, go
home. Your dad will be wondering why
you’re late.”
“I texted him to let him know I stopped at your
place. Anyway, I can never go home
again.” I walked back to the bed and sat
down.
“Jennifer, you’re being ridiculous. What is this all about?”
“OK, here it is.
But you can’t tell a soul.”
“Jennifer, I’m your best friend. You know you can trust me.”
“OK. Three
days ago I went home after school and my dad wasn’t there.”
“Abducted by aliens?”
“Seriously, Liz.
He was out helping my Uncle Bob with something, but that doesn’t
matter. Anyway, I walked into the
kitchen and the mail was on the kitchen table.
On top was a letter addressed to my dad – from a woman.”
“Your mother?”
“No, not my mother.”
“A new girlfriend?”
“God, maybe. But
I think I destroyed any chance of that.”
“What on earth did you do?”
I groaned and lay back on the bed. “My first mistake was that I didn’t put the
letter down and forget I ever saw it. Instead, I started to read it. When I realized it could be a girlfriend, I got even more curious and took it upstairs to my
room. But before I could read it, my Dad
came home.”
“OMG! What did you do then?”
“I panicked.
I hid the letter and ran down to see him, trying to act as innocent as I
could.”
“Did he say anything about it? I mean, he must have wondered what happened
to it.
“No, he didn’t ask me about it. He started cooking dinner and I went upstairs
to do my homework. But I could hear him
looking for it and when I came back downstairs, he was outside looking for it
in the car. But he never even asked me
if I’d seen the letter. It was like he
figured he had just misplaced it.”
“So then what did you do?”
“Well, I sure couldn’t tell him I’d taken it.”
“Yeah, you would have been so grounded!”
“No, worse. I
would have died of embarrassment. Don’t you see? He’d never suspect I’d take a letter meant
for him. He trusts me. If I had confessed, I’d have lost his trust.”
“Couldn’t you have just put it where he would find
it?”
“Think, Liz!
He had searched everywhere. Only
the two of us live there since Mom abandoned
us. If the letter materialized
somewhere, he would know that I put it there.”
“So what did you do?”
“Well, I was too upset to try to read it when Dad
was in the house. So I planned to take
it to school, figuring maybe I’d just pitch it if it wasn’t important. But Wednesday morning I was running late, and forgot
to take the letter with me. That evening
Dad decided to take us out to dinner, and I sort of forgot about it until this
morning. I did remember to take it
today.”
“Well, spill the beans. What did it say?”
“I wasn’t able to read the letter until I was coming
home on the late activities bus. We had
play rehearsal all afternoon and after school.”
Really? On a Friday?”
“Yeah, well, we open next Thursday, and a lot of
kids still don’t know their lines. And
we’re helping build the set. Anyway, I finally
read it on the late bus and then stopped here so you could shoot me – unless
you’ve got that time machine.”
“All right,
Jen,” said Liz. “You wait here and I’ll
get my father’s rifle. My time machine is in the shop for repairs. Seriously, are you going to tell me what’s in
that letter, or keep me in suspense forever?”
I sat up on the bed and faced my friend. “I’m sorry.
OK. It was pretty bland to start.
‘A lot of time has passed since we were in high school together, blah,
blah, blah – that sort of thing.”
“OK? I’m not
going to get my dad’s gun based on that.”
“Then it gets more complicated. She heard from a friend about Dad’s
divorce. She says that her husband died
– so it is clear we’re talking about a woman.”
“Hey, it’s 2017.
You never know.”
“C’mon, Liz.
These are old people we’re talking about. So she says she knows how painful it can be
to lose a spouse – not that Mom’s dead or anything.”
“Just dead to your father.”
“Yeah, pretty much.
So she’s not coming right out and saying it, but it sounds like she’s
making a play for my dad – in a real subtle way. She says she’s thinking about moving back to
Pittsburgh, because she still has family here and her son is a doctor in
Cleveland.”
“Yeah, I’d say she’s subtle – very subtle, maybe even extremely
subtle, said Liz.
“Stop it, Liz.
That’s not funny. But then she
writes that she’s planning a visit to Pittsburgh real soon. She says her nephew plays basketball for
their old alma mater and she’s planning to take in a game during her visit.”
“Wow! How
romantic,” Liz said sarcastically.
“That’s not the point. She says maybe Dad can come to the game for
old time’s sake, and they can meet and catch up over coffee afterward.”
“Well, that actually sounds very nice,” said Liz. No pressure.
Just coffee and a chat. Kind of
check each other out and see what the ravages of time have done to each of
them.”
“Yeah, but that game is tonight!” Jennifer looked at her phone. “And it starts in about five minutes!”
“Oh no!” said
Liz. She thought for a moment. “Well, maybe your dad actually read the
letter and is at the game, holding hands and gazing into the eyes of your
mystery lady.”
“I thought of that too, so I called him when I was
on the activity bus to see what his plans were for this evening. He told me he was planning to stay home and
watch a movie.”
“Hmm. Well,
maybe he read the letter, figured out who it was, and decided he didn’t want to
accept her offer.”
“I don’t think so.
When he was desperately looking for it, and I asked him about it, he
told me he had just started reading it when he had to leave to help my uncle.”
“So what are you going to do now? If you show your Dad the letter, he might
still have time to make it to the game.
Where is his old high school?”
“It’s Thomas Jefferson.”
“That’s only like twenty minutes from here. If you go home and show him the letter, he
could be there by halftime.”
“But if I show it to him, he will be so upset with
me.”
“Look, Jen.
This is not all about you,” said Liz.
You’re screwing with your Dad’s life here – and this woman’s life –
whoever she is. Maybe she’s your future
stepmother, or maybe she’s just a cup of coffee and some conversation, but it’s
not your job to keep it from happening just because your dad may get upset at
you for reading his mail.”
“If he never knows about it, what’s the harm in
that?”
“Well, that’s your choice, Jennifer. Confess and bear the consequences or be a
jerk and destroy the letter. Now, I love
you, you’re my best friend, but go home, because I’ve got a ton of homework and
I’ve got to get it done tonight. My
cousins from Philadelphia are coming tomorrow and staying till Sunday, and
we’ve got a lot of family stuff planned.”
“So you think I should show my dad the letter?”
“Yes, Jennifer.
You heard what I said. Now go
home and talk to your dad – or not – it’s your choice. Either way, don’t blame me for whatever
happens – or doesn’t. Oh, and by the
way, my dad got rid of his gun years ago, and I honestly don’t have a time
machine.”
“Thanks for letting me know. And thanks for listening. I feel a little better. I’d better hurry
home.” I gave Liz a quick hug and ran
down the steps and out the front door.
