Today, I'm in a rather melancholy mood I suppose because I keep thinking about phrases like 'old school' and 'courting' and 'letters'. Remember letters? They use to come in envelopes and had real stamps. I do. Or how about those lost love letters from when you were in grade school?
Several years ago my mom handed over to me a folder that contained items from my past; some of which I had forgotten about and some of those I can't believe I did. There was my high school graduation invitation, a couple of my wedding invitations, various photos and even a few of my poetry attempts. The first time I went through the items it was like I was in a time machine... I was 19, then I was 15, then I was... in tears.
Among the treasures from my past a simple little letter from when I was in the second grade, a letter that until that moment I knew nothing about. I must share this story with you. The page is obviously yellowed with age and slightly tattered, still in the envelope he had put it in. Hands trembling, tears welling up, I opened it. On one side of the page I recognized my own handwriting:
"Dear Randy,
1. I no were you live
2. I no you have a raccon.
3. I love you.
Debbie"
On the other he had written:
"Dear Debbie Williams,
1. I live on 307.
2. I have a dog.
3. I have a cat.
I have a raccoon.
I love you.
Randy"
But it wasn't what was WRITTEN that chokes me up, it's what was slightly ERASED:
"I am going to marry you"
Randy and I were classmates and I remember him to this day; his blond hair, lively eyes and typical enthusiastic boyish ways. He lived on the road directly behind me in the small town of West Monroe, Louisiana. The area was typical of the time - large yards, beautiful pine trees, on the outskirts of town and on the fringe of being in the country. The time: fall 1970.
Randy was coming over, letter in pocket, to see me... I can only imagine what he must've been thinking, what he must've been feeling. It was the weekend after all, no school, no band, just time. Time - the one thing we always assume we have plenty of especially when you're 8 years old - but we didn't. Randy was struck down by a car and killed. He never made it.
Looking at it even now, the prophetic and symbolic nature of this one little letter is overwhelming. What was clearly written - that love was alive in the present. The future's desire, faded slightly by pencil eraser, forever erased by death.
We should never assume we have nothing but time or we'll find we simply have nothing. Nor should we presume those we love, know we love them... Show them, even if it's one simple little letter.
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