The Letter - Chapter 36

I didn’t know if finally making contact with George Leskovic would lead to any sort of future relationship with him.  But it did let me know that I liked the thought of being with someone.  Shortly before he died, my Jim made me promise to be open to the possibility of finding love with another.   I thought about the words he said to me when he was in hospice.

“I’ll be leaving you shortly, my dear Ellie,” he said.   God willing, you’ll have many years on this earth before we’ll meet again in whatever comes next. You love life and you thrive on relationships, Ellie.  That’s why you’re so loved by everyone that knows you.  That’s what made me fall so deeply in love with you.   So don’t make my memory something sacred.  I’m just a man and there are other good men.  One of them may be your next soul mate, so when he comes along, embrace him with my eternal blessing.”

He died the next morning.  An aggressive form of cancer gave us a little more than a month to prepare for his death.  I mourned his loss and knew it would be unlikely that I’d ever find someone as good as him.  But I remembered his words, and always tried to be open to the possibility.

Was George Leskovic that possibility?  Perhaps it was just a coincidence that against considerable odds and thousands of miles between us we had somehow connected – with a little help from our friends, as that old song goes.  But was he a good man – the soul mate that Jim had talked about?  His messages in response to my Facebook friend request made me feel like a giddy teen.  But perhaps I was reading too much into his friendly banter.  I decided to see if he had posted anything since we messaged each other.  As a matter of fact, he had posted something earlier this morning.

“I appreciate those friends that regularly visit my blog.  I posted an article last night expressing my views on an important issue, which frankly has become far too politicized.  Please read ‘There Was No Outrage’ at GeoLeskovic@blogpost.com.”

I clicked on the link to take me to the article.

There was no outrage.  No candlelight vigils were reported.  There was no Presidential visit to comfort the community.  No emails from gun control advocates using the tragedy as a means to raise money for their cause.  After all, the body count was only one dead, two wounded.  It was just one more school shooting. 

According to police and witnesses, a student at the school – wearing khakis, part of the school uniform – opened fire shortly after 7 a.m., leaving the 8^th grade math teacher dead and two students wounded.  The shooter, apparently then took his own life, police said. 

There was no mention of the type of gun used or how the student got the gun.  There was no discussion of motive or whether there were mental health issues or whether he the object of bullying, or just having a bad day. 

According to Gun Violence Archive, a database that tracks gun violence, there have been over 1,500 mass shootings in the United States since the Newtown tragedy, and still more since the more recent mass shooting in Parkland, Florida.  This murder in a small town school in Arkansas wouldn’t have even met their definition of mass shooting – at least 4 dead not including the shooter.

So does anyone really cares about one more school shooting?  Or could this tragedy just be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back? 

Not a chance – unless those shocked by the gun violence taking place in this country, those that believe something should be done, band together and exert the power possessed by free citizens in a democracy to elect representatives committed to resisting the gun lobby and taking reasonable steps to build a safer society.

I finished the article and went back to George’s Facebook post.  I hit the ‘like’ button and left a comment.

Good article, George.  I agree that action needs to be taken to prevent these sorts of tragedies from becoming almost daily occurrences.

I left the computer to fix myself some lunch.  When I returned, I saw that George had ‘liked’ my comment and replied.

Thank you, Ellie.  I submitted it to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and got an email this morning telling me they plan to publish it in Sunday’s Forum.  Didn’t expect to hear from them so quickly after submitting it yesterday.

I hit the like button and sent the following response.

Congratulations, George.  I’ll look for the electronic version on Sunday.

I got up and went into the kitchen.  Sun was streaming in.  It looked like it was going to be a glorious day.  I felt like taking a walk.  I decided to call Beverly to see if she was home and if she’d like a visitor.

The Letter - Chapter 35

At that moment, I hated my mother for making me feel this way.  A hug.  My father had just tried to hug me.  The seed my mother had planted made it feel dirty, and I had pulled away from him.

“I should start dinner,” he said.  I looked at him.  He looked older than the image of him I carried around in my brain.  His gray hair was almost completely white.  His trim figure had developed a paunch that hadn’t registered with me, even though he sometimes jokingly pointed to it, saying, ”Beer did this to me!” and vowed to lose the ten pounds that had somehow attached itself to his frame.  The most striking change was the overwhelming sadness I saw in his blue-gray eyes and I suddenly hated myself for subconsciously buying into my mother’s suggestion.  I walked over and hugged him and he hugged back, patting me on my back with one hand as the other held me tight.

“Is everything all right with you?” he asked softly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, taking a step back and wiping my eyes.  I couldn’t bear to tell him about my awkward conversation with Mom. 

“How are plans coming for the big dance on Saturday?  Do you even have a dress?  I should have taken you shopping, shouldn’t I?”

“It’s okay, Dad.  I have a perfectly fine dress that will go great with the pearls from Aunt Karen.”

“I’m sure you’ll be the belle of the ball.  That Jeff will be the envy of all the fellows from your high school.”

“No way, Dad.”  I tried to smile.  “Less than a week before the dance and none of them had asked me.”

“It’s only because they’re all too dazzled by your beauty and too intimidated by your brilliance.”  He beamed at me, the sadness gone.  “So, what would you like for dinner?”

“I’d like to start with a bit of foie gras on melba toast, then a fresh beet salad, followed by chateaubriand in a red wine reduction with new potatoes and fresh asparagus spears.”

“No soup?  I could add a vichyssoise without too much effort.”

“On second thought, I think I’d prefer some of that leftover chicken from Tuesday, unless you want to make that pizza I saw in the freezer.”

“Go do your homework,” my dad smiled.  I’ll call you when the pizza’s ready.”

I felt like the rift created by my visit with Mom had been somewhat healed as I walked upstairs to my room and my dad walked into the kitchen to prepare dinner.  Twenty minutes later, he called me downstairs to eat.

“Hey Jen.  I forgot to mention to you earlier that I have a new Facebook friend.”  My father put a bowl of salad on the table and sat down.  “The pizza has a few more minutes.”

“So who’s the new Facebook friend?”

“Ellie Kosko – the mystery letter writer.”

“Really!?  Just out of the blue?”

“Yeah.  Go figure.  When I accepted her friend request, I decided to send her a message.  She responded and we went back and forth for a while.  She said she had sent me a letter inviting me to the basketball game last Friday.  I told her I never received it.  You don’t know anything about it, do you?”  He looked at me expectantly.

“Dad, I learned my lesson the first time she sent you a letter.  As you know, my Nancy Drew alter-ego spent much time and effort to bring you two together.”

“And you snagged a male admirer in the process.”  Dad chuckled and went to the stove to pull out the hot pizza.  “Looks perfect.  You couldn’t get a better pizza at Danny’s.”

“Dad, don’t try to compare a frozen pizza to the heavenly pies that Danny’s serves.”

Dad put a slice on my plate.  “Anyway, another missing letter, another unsolved mystery.”

I recalled the glimpse of lavender in my mother’s purse, but decided to not say anything that might destroy the good mood we now both felt. We continued to eat our pizza.  “So is she coming back to Pittsburgh anytime soon?”

“She has no immediate plans, but told me her son and his wife are expecting.  They live in Cleveland and she’s looking forward to being a first-time grandmother. Cleveland is only about a two hour drive.  She also offered to show me the town if I ever get to Seattle.”

“You’ve talked about taking a vacation there.  You should go.”

“I’ll think about it.  For now, I’ve got this custody thing to deal with.” He got up and started to clear the dirty dishes.  “So how was your visit to Sewickley Heights?”

“You wouldn’t believe her place.  Two libraries, a pool, racquetball court, and a billiard room.”

“Billiard room? Jen, why don’t you ask your mother if she has a room there for me?”

“I knew the billiard room would be the clincher.”

Does she have a room picked out for you?”

“Yes, it was a bit shabby though.  It has a gas fireplace and solid mahogany canopy bed – queen size.”

“Oh yeah?  Well, that can’t compare to the Ikea twin bed you have here.”

“Don’t forget the furnace vent under my desk that blows warm air onto my cold feet.”

“Yep, you’ve got a pretty amazing set-up at this place.  That’s for sure.  Besides, you’ll need to work up to a queen-sized bed.  Right now, you’re still only a princess.”  He finished filling the dishwasher.  “Well, young lady.  You’ve got homework, and I’ve got a major re-write to do thanks to your literary critique.  I suggest that we go to our respective rooms and get to work.”

“Dad.  I love you.  No matter what happens, let’s make sure that we don’t let anything change that.”

“You’ve got it, princess.  See ya later, alligator.”

“After a while, crocodile.”  I smiled as he walked toward his study.

The Letter - Chapter 34

I smiled as I read the response to my Facebook message from Ellie Kosko Barnhart.

I saw you on the eleven o’clock news.  I never realized back in high school that you were such a rough character. Sorry to hear about your arrest, but I trust you got out early for good behavior.

I messaged her back.  Yeah, I beat the rap.  Was only in the slammer for about an hour.  I wish I had known you were in town.

Ellie responded.  Didn’t you receive my letter?  I explained the mystery of the first one – purely unintentional and I invited you to meet me at the TJ game last Friday.

I responded.  I never received it.  Must have gotten lost in the mail.  Any plans to come out this way again?

Her response.  When I was in Cleveland I found out my son and his wife are expecting later this year.  DON’T TELL ANYONE! They swore me to secrecy until they feel Katie is past the danger period.  It will be my first grandchild.  Cleveland is not too far from Pittsburgh.  Any plans to come out to see beautiful Seattle?  

My response.  The Pacific Northwest is on my bucket list, but I haven’t made plans yet.

Ellie wrote back.  Well when you do make plans, know that there is someone out here willing and able to show you the sights.  By the way, I love your blog.  My friend showed me where to find it.  Have only read a few of your posts, but I plan to read more.  You are a good writer.

I wrote.  Thank you.  I always announce new posts on my Facebook page.  Happy to have a new reader.

She wrote.  It’s been fun chatting.  Stay in touch.

I finished.  Will do.

Well, what do you know?  I smiled to myself. We finally connected.  She seems very nice and still looks damned good.  I looked at her profile picture and some of the other pictures she posted on her Facebook page.  ‘Widowed’, it says.  Oh well.  Don’t kid yourself George.  Any future here is pretty unlikely.  Pittsburgh and Seattle are thousands of miles apart.  Still . . ..  Oh hell.  Get back to work George!

I had been working on an article on gun control when I heard saw the Facebook friend request come up.  It had been a welcome interruption.  I was struggling with the article.  I cast about for an idea – some hook to anchor my arguments.  Finally, I had the germ of an idea and started typing.  I was close to finished when I heard Jennifer come in the front door.

“Jennifer, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” she deadpanned.  I heard her start up the stairs to her bedroom.  She had been unusually distant since the previous evening.  She told me her mother had picked her up from school and whisked her off to the Zingerman mansion in Sewickley Heights.  She told me it was fairytale gorgeous, but she didn’t seem very enthused about her visit.  She was quiet throughout dinner and told me she wasn’t feeling well enough to share a bowl of popcorn while watching our favorite television show.  Now, she came in and went directly upstairs, not stopping for a hug like she had just about every day for as long as I could remember.  I chalked it up to the turmoil she must be experiencing due to the custody fight.

I went to the bottom of the staircase and called up toward her room.  “Hey, Jen.  Could you come here for a minute?”

She walked slowly down the stairs.  I considered giving her a hug, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood.  Maybe I was a little sensitive to the whole notion of physical contact with her based on my discussion the previous day with my lawyer.

“Hey, I could use your editing skills.  I wrote a gun control article.  I’m not sure whether I’m going to submit it to the Post-Gazette or post it to my blog.  Maybe I’ll do both, but I wanted to get your opinion first.”

She sat down in my desk chair and started reading.  I stood behind her and unknowingly rested my hand on her shoulder.  I felt her stiffen and immediately put my hand in my pocket and took a step back.

“Well, what do you think, Jen?”

“Dad, I don’t know.  I mean, you know I love almost everything you write.  But this is bad.”

“Really?  What don’t you like about it?”

“Well, take this paragraph as an example.  She started reading it out loud. "We’ve all heard the stories about Social Security going broke.  How long are some of these geezers planning to hang around on the federal dole?  We could start by gunning down all those that have reached 100.  They’re mostly senile anyhow and won’t even realize they’ve been targeted.  Then we can work backwards progressively through the nineties and, if necessary, into the eighties and seventies until the Social Security funding problem is solved."  Jennifer turned around to look at me.  “Shooting old people?  I think you’re somehow trying to be funny, but it sounds mean-spirited.” 

“It’s satirical, Jen.  The piece was inspired by Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal.  Have you ever read that?”

“Yes, we studied it last year in English class.  And a lot of people were outraged at his suggestion of eating poor people’s children.  That’s the problem with biting satire.  A lot of people just don’t get it.  Those that do probably are already on your side.  I’ve read a lot of your writing, Dad.  It’s funny, but it’s gentle humor.  You’re more Mark Twain than Jonathan Swift.”

“I’ll take that as high praise, dear daughter.  Back to the drawing board then.  I’ll file this one in the file labeled ‘articles that should never see the light of day.’  Anyway, thank you for your advice, Jen.”  She stood up and I attempted a hug, but felt her recoil.  “I should start dinner.”

The Letter - Chapter 33

Beverly bustled into my house and shook the rain off her coat.  I took her coat and hung it up in the hall closet.

“Rain again!  Seattle weather can be so tiresome.”  Beverly was carrying her laptop.  “Gangway, Ellie.  I need to set up my computer.  We’ve got some research to do."  She pushed past me and headed toward the kitchen.  “The kitchen table is as good a place as any.  Make some tea and break out those ginger snaps.”

“What on earth has gotten you into such a lather, Beverly?”

Beverly went to work plugging her laptop into the outlet under the table and turning it on.  “Which one of these is your Wi-Fi?” she asked.  I pointed to the correct name.  “Do you know your password?”

“Just a second.”  I walked into the spare bedroom where I had my computer set up and picked up the index card I kept in my desk with the Wi-Fi password.  I walked back into the kitchen and handed the card to Beverly. She typed the password and clicked on the connect icon.  “You know, Beverly, I have a computer here in this very house.  You didn’t have to bring yours.”

“Ellie, first of all, I know mine better.  Second, I’ve seen your computer, and it’s close to being an antique.  Okay, first I want you to see George Leskovic’s blog.”

“George Leskovic?  Oh come on, Beverly.  That ship has sailed.”

“I’m not ready to give up on the two of you, and I want you to see why.  I have a theory, and that’s why I’ve brought my laptop.”

“Oh brother.  Okay, tell me your theory, Darwin.” 

Beverly gave me a wry smile.  “Look at this post written just a few days ago.  He describes in detail his experience at the anti-gun violence vigil and details what steps he believes we should take to make our cities safer.”

“So?”

“So, read it and tell me if it sounds like it was written by someone with Alzheimer’s.”

I took a few minutes to read it over Beverly’s shoulder.  “Okay, I admit it’s very good.  Very insightful.”

“And look at this post written a few weeks ago.  It’s a humorous look at the trials of a single father raising a teenage daughter.”

I started reading and felt myself smiling and outright laughing at a few of the experiences he described.

“Now does that seem like a guy that would send a nasty letter to a friendly voice from his past?”

“You’re right, Beverly.  That letter was nasty and jarring.  I can hardly believe the same hand wrote this piece and that letter.”

“Exactly my thought.  Beverly turned around in her seat and looked up at me.  “Ellie, if you’re game, your dear Auntie Beverly is going to conduct an experiment.”

“What sort of experiment?”

“You’re on Facebook, aren’t you?

“Sort of.  I signed up for it a long time ago, but I hardly ever go on it.”

“Let’s take a look at your profile.  Ellie or Eleanor?”

“Frankly, I don’t remember.”

“You are so lucky you have me as a friend.  There. Eleanor Barnhart, lives in Issaquah, Washington.  God!  You don’t even have a profile picture!  There’s hardly anything here.  Okay, work with me Ellie.  Go take off that sweatshirt and put on a nice top.  You’ve got that cute Elizabeth Warren haircut.  I’m going to take your picture and we are going to spiff up your Facebook page.”

I did as she asked and about a half hour later, Beverly pronounced my Facebook page as being “very nearly adequate.”

“So now we’re ready to send a friend request to George Leskovic,” said Beverly.

“What?  Why on earth should I do that?”

“Bear with me, Ellie.  If he accepts the request, he can’t be the same person that sent that nasty letter.  If he doesn’t accept it, then who knows?  Maybe he does have a nasty streak, and we can just put this whole sorry episode behind us.”

“I thought for a minute.  All right, Beverly, you’re on.” I nudged Beverly to get up, and I sat down in front of her laptop.  “Let’s do this.  I am sending a friend request to George Leskovic.  There – off  into the ether.”

Well, it might take a few days before we know anything.  If he’s anything like you, it might be weeks before he checks his Facebook messages.  But friend requests come through on email, so he should find out about this even if . . ..”  We heard a ping and checked the screen.  George had accepted the request!

“Now see?  Doesn’t Auntie Beverly know best?  Hmm.  I think Facebook might prompt him to send a message.  Of course he can ignore the prompt.  While we’re waiting, let’s have those cookies.”

“I’m so sorry, Beverly.  I’m such a poor hostess.”  I walked to the cupboard to get them.

“No worries, Ellie.  We both got caught up in the search for the real George Leskovic.”  Beverly bit into a ginger snap and we heard another ping.

“Look.  He sent a message.”

Hi Ellie!  My daughter somehow figured out that you were the person that sent me a mysterious letter around the first of the year.  I didn’t know if I would ever hear from you again.  My daughter told me you were in Pittsburgh to visit your family the day I got arrested at a peace rally. LOL.  I would have been better off watching the basketball game with you.  Maybe another time.  Stay in touch.

Beverly dusted her hands and closed up her laptop. “Looks like my work here is done. Now it’s up to you to fire up that antique machine collecting dust in your spare bedroom and respond to George’s message.”

“Beverly, thank you so much.”  I helped her on with her coat.

“All in a day’s work for your fairy godmother.  You can take it from here, but I have just a little more research to do.  I’ll let you know when I know more.”

I gave her a quizzical look as she turned to say goodbye.  “Look, it’s stopped raining,” Beverly said holding a palm upward.  “And over there – a rainbow.  See you later, Ellie.”  She hustled down the sidewalk and away toward her home.

As I watched her go I wondered for a moment if my friend was actually responsible for putting that rainbow in the sky.