The Letter - Part 2, Chapter 22

Part 2

Chapter 22

Another mass shooting!  I tossed the newspaper on the floor in disgust.  They’ve become almost commonplace.  And I can easily predict what will come next.  ‘Our thoughts and prayers are with the friends and family members of the victims of this horrible crime,’ the politicians will somberly intone.  And then, ‘It’s not the right time to be talking about gun controls so soon after this tragedy.’  It’s never the right time for those in the pocket of the Gun Lobby.  Time will pass, nothing will be done, and then there will be another tragedy.  I wrote an Op-Ed piece after the Newtown mass shooting.  I thought the fact that children had died would be enough to move Congress to some action.  But several more mass shootings had occurred since Newtown and still it was too soon to talk about reasonable controls on the proliferation of mass killing machines.  I stared at my computer screen and considered what I might write on my blog.

“Good morning, Father.”  Jennifer yawned as she walked into my study.  Her blonde hair was disheveled and she was still in her flannel pajamas, wrapped in her cozy chenille robe and wearing her Garfield slippers.

“Good morning, Jennifer.  I’m surprised that you’re up already.  It’s only the crack of eleven o’clock.”  I smiled at my daughter.

“Please, dad.  I’m a teenager.  I need lots of sleep, and it’s a Saturday so why not sleep in?”  She curled up in the overstuffed chair in the corner of the study.

“Whoever coined the phrase slept like a baby had it wrong.  Slept like a teen.  Now that’s a good night’s sleep.”

“What are you working on?”

“I was just looking at some of the news stories about this latest mass shooting.  I’m considering another Op-Ed piece – not that it will convince those that need convincing.”

“When these things happen, the second amendment crowd just heads to the nearest sporting goods store and buys more guns and ammo.  But you should write the piece anyhow.  The pen is mightier than the sword.”

“But no match for a gun.”

“What?”

“Sorry.  I was thinking of the lyrics of an old Beach Boys tune called Student Demonstration Time.”

“Maybe that’s your inspiration.  You often use music as a backdrop for your articles. Wait.  There’s the doorbell.”

“Would you see who it is?”

“Dad, I’m in my pajamas!”

“These days people go to the grocery store in their pajamas.  You’re fine.”

“All right.  We’re not expecting any package are we?”  Jennifer starting walking toward the front door.

I heard it open.  “Mom!?” 

“Hello, Jennifer.  Is your father home?”

“Uh, yes.  I’ll go get him.”  I got up from my desk as Jennifer rushed into the room.

“It’s Mom,” she whispered.  “Were you expecting her?”

“Not really.  Maybe this is the surprise she had mentioned on the phone the other day.  Did you invite her in?”

“No.  I’m sorry.  It was such a shock to see her.  I just wasn’t thinking.”

I walked past Jennifer to the front door.  “Melissa.  Come in from the cold.  I’ve got to teach our daughter better manners.”

“Well, the mailman came while I was standing here.  Here’s your mail,” Melissa said handing me a pile of what looked mostly like junk mail and stepping inside.  “Anyway, maybe I’ll do a better job of teaching our daughter manners.”  She handed me a fat envelope. 

“What’s this?”

“A complaint in custody.  Surprise, George.  You’ve been served.”

Missy, you’ve got to be kidding.  Two years after walking out on us, you’ve decided to seek custody of Jennifer?  She’ll be eighteen in a few months.  Then she can decide for herself.”

“Jennifer is at a very important stage of her childhood.  Lots of decisions need to be made about college, careers, friends and so forth.  I think I am much better positioned than you are to help her make the right decisions.”

“Mom? Dad? What’s going on?”  Jennifer had come up behind me.

“You’re going to be coming to live with me, darling.  You’re going to love living in a mansion.”

“Over my dead body, Missy!”

“As the saying goes, George, tell it to the judge.”  Melissa turned on her heel and walked to her waiting limousine.  A chauffeur opened the door for her.  She waived a gloved hand as the limo pulled away from the curb.

Jennifer tugged at my sleeve.  “Is Mom serious about this?”

I looked at the papers Melissa had handed to me.  Richard’s law firm.  Of course.  I threw them onto the floor and stomped on them.

“I guess that answers my question,” Jennifer said.