4 minute read
Dear Carl by Anna Friend
(Carl’s mom writes him letters occasionally. Carl is her only child. Carl’s father died when he was in college. Living in the Arizona, Carl calls his Mom in the Carolinas as often as he can on Sundays. Carl’s mom is in her 80s. She lives in a contemporary world with old-fashioned values.)
DEAR CARL
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As I get older, I bask in treasured memories. However, in doing so I am burdened for how our world is today. Summer will be so different this year. I took a walk around the cul-de-sac this morning. I stayed off the sidewalk and walked on the black pavement. I did not want to make any residents on their lawns uncomfortable. I breathed in the scent of fresh cut grass and the perfume of the Honeysuckle blossoms in the sticky air. I had to wipe beads from my forehead only 3 cottages away from mine. I miss exercise classes at the old schoolhouse. I wore my brightly colored sneakers -the ones I bought with Shirley last year. As I passed by her cottage tears lined my eyes. Someone put a pink wreath on her door. She is not due to come home for several months. Her immune system is so fragile. She still calls me once a week.
About 10 minutes in the walk, I plopped on the park bench by the property manager’s office. She was gabbing away on the phone. She is a young woman, pretty and smartly dressed. She looks stern but that girl will hug your neck and squeeze you tight when she greets you. At least she used to. As I sat on the bench I thought of the beach and the sandy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you would eat and how the heavy lid on the green Coleman cooler would pinch your fingers. I thought of the scattered bicycles on our lawn when you were young boy. Dad would always find one to trip over and say bad words. Our house was the hang out place. We always had tea and Cokes. On Saturdays, the smell of grilled hot dogs would beckon you all to lunch. Our gravel road would dust up as you all raced each other to be first in line.
Sitting on the bench, I got tickled as I drifted off in my mind. I about fell off it as I held my belly with my side hurting. I must have looked insane to the other residents. I could not stop myself. It was a private moment, and I felt as if your dad was sitting right beside me. I think I heard him snort. Son, maybe your mama is losing it. I went home not long after. I opened my door, and Sheba slithered her furry body around my ankles. I was grateful for ability to walk some, smell the essence of summer, and have memories to entertain and console me.
I need to go to the store. I don’t have Shirley to drive me. Son, I am legal to drive, still have my license, but I will keep my promise not to drive anymore. The SUV is looking awfully sad, and it is not because I knocked one of its glass eyes out. Preacher Larry has assigned me a helper from the church. Sarah comes 2 times a week to deliver my grocery and drug store orders. One day she brought me an avocado. I asked her “What do I do with it?” She said, “Slice them on a sandwich or dice them in a salad.” It was delicious when I finally ate some of it. I did not know you cannot peel it with a vegetable peeler. My fingertips were so messy as I cut the avocado off that big brown ball. I dropped the ball, and it rolled right under the kitchen table. It was near impossible to get a hold of. I was exhausted just fixing my silly lunch. You know I had to mop the floor after all that. I am wanting some Iced Animal Cookies. You know the bright pink and white ones with little candy dots on them. Them summer memories got me wanting some. They will be on my list for Sarah tomorrow. Read your Bible, son. Tell Donna to wear her sunscreen. She needs to keep an eye on that dark mole on her lip. Suntans can give you cancer, they say. Call me.
Love, Mom
