The Letter - Chapter 14

I took a bite of a ginger snap.  Beverly looked at me expectantly with her blue-gray eyes.

“OK, Eleanor, I am ready to be your scrivener.  How do you want to start?  My dearest George?”

“A bit strong,” I smiled.  Let’s keep it simple.  Just write, “Dear George.”

“An excellent start, dear Ellie.  What next?”

“I think I should apologize to him.”

“For what?  Isn’t there a saying, ‘Love means never having to say you’re sorry’?” Beverly grabbed another cookie.  “These damned things are addictive, you know.  You’re going to make me fatter than I already am.”

“You’re the one who brought the lady locks.  And you are in fine shape,” I said to her.

 

“Tell that to my bathroom scale.  I seem to gain two pounds for every one I struggle to lose,” Beverly frowned.  “OK, so it’s Dear George – colon or comma? Comma, I guess.  That’s what Mrs. Lehr, my 4^th grade teacher taught us for a friendly letter.  Geez, it’s been so long since I wrote an actual letter, I’ve almost forgotten all the rules.”

“This is a draft, Beverly.  Don’t worry about those details yet.  Anyway, let’s start with ‘I’m sorry or I apologize,’ uh . . ..”

“Maybe you should start with an introduction since your friend George won’t know who is apologizing let alone why.”

“Good point, Beverly.  How about, my name is Eleanor Barnhart, but you may remember me as Ellie Kosko.  I’m an old classmate of yours, and . . ..”

“Old classmate, huh?  You really know how to seduce a man.  And do you really need to confuse him with your married name?  Let me have a go at it. ‘Dear George, This is Ellie Kosko writing to you again.  You should have received a letter from me a few weeks ago, though you wouldn’t have known it.  After I put it in the mail, I realized I had forgotten to sign it.  Foolish me.’  What do you think so far?  Notice how I avoided any apology. So where do you want to go next?”

“Should I say I’m sorry about not making it to the game?”

“Of course not. Was it your fault that a blizzard caused your flight to be cancelled?  Now let’s see.  ‘I really had wanted to make it to our class reunion last fall, but’ . . ..”

“I had no intention of going to that reunion, Beverly.  I don’t look back on my high school days with much nostalgia.  Would you like more tea?” I asked as I got up to fill the kettle.

“No thank you.  I’ve had enough. George may or may not have been there.  Who cares?"  Beverly spoke as she continued to write.  ‘But it was too soon after my husband passed away.’   She looked at me across the table.  "We’re trying to do a little exposition here, Ellie.  We want to make it clear that you are single and eligible now that George is free of the clutches of that witch ex-wife whom he justifiably divorced.”

“For all I know, she could be a very nice person.  Maybe the divorce was George’s fault.”

“Didn’t your sister say . . .?”

“Yeah, Marnie did say his wife had run off with a rich guy.”

“OK.” Beverly continued to write.  “‘Nevertheless, the reunion got me thinking about how much I missed Pittsburgh, so when my sister invited me to visit, I was excited to make the trip.  I thought it might be fun to visit our high school and see my nephew play basketball.  It’s been years since I was there, and took a chance that you might be interested to meet me and reminisce about our high school days’.”

“And what’s happened in the years since. Add that,” I said.

“That’s good.  Let’s not let George think we’re stuck in the past.  So for when have you re-scheduled your trip?”

“I haven’t.”

“Seriously?  Are we sending this letter so you can become Facebook friends?  Really, Ellie, you need to get to Pittsburgh and see if this guy is worth fantasizing about.  Anyway, I think we’ve got a good start here, but I’ve got a hair appointment at 3:00, so I have to be going.”

“But we’re not finished,” I whined.

“Eleanor, I know where we’re going with this, probably better than you do.  I will take this draft with me, finish it off and bring it back to share with you tomorrow.  In the meantime, you need to call your sister and re-schedule that visit to Pittsburgh, capiche?”  Beverly got up and started for the front door.  “So what do you think?  Should I have them turn this silver into gold?” Beverly chuckled as she grabbed a bunch of her hair.

“I just can’t see you as a blonde,” I smiled at my friend, recalling her auburn locks that faded to gray many years before.

“Flaming red, then,” Beverly laughed, picking up her umbrella from my front porch.  “If you don’t go after this George, I might be in the mood for a trip to Pittsburgh myself.”

“Stay away from my guy!” I laughed as she hurried away with a wave of her hand.