by Mara White
It was in a pink envelope, which for one, didn’t seem like the Jackie he remembered. Was it going to be scented with perfume, too and the ‘i’s crowned with hearts or stars instead of dots? It was on his coffee table where he’d thrown it when he came in and he stared at it like an affront to his life. What if her response changed things? Fuck! He drove himself crazy. He was “dating,” a girl he’d met in a bar and even though the sex was great, Ryan knew that a letter from Anaya would not affect him in any way.
When Ryan opened the letter, his hands were shaking. He wasn’t so much frightened, as he was relieved. Just go for it!
He did. It was true that he thought of her often and the memories were like treasures, he refused to lay them to rest. But memories of Jackie were always accompanied by doubt. He actually didn’t even know if she was okay. He didn’t know what had become of her. Was she safe, healthy or recovered? She could be homeless for all he knew. Deanna did say that she had a job.
He smelled the pink envelope. No fragrance. Her writing looked the same.
Having that doubt made him feel like he’d made a mistake, like he’d walked away from the best thing that had ever happened to him, like an idiot. This letter could confirm that scenario—the beginning of the end. The marriage pact they’d made hovered in the back of his mind as he examined the tasteful black and white card, a photo of a Pacific Rim Highway as it curled along the ocean.
The damn pact. Everyone makes them and not a single one ends up in a real marriage. Were they serious when they’d made it? Or was he desperate and Jackie doing nothing more than agreeing in order to get away from him. He wanted to know if she was married or was serious with someone, but finding out the truth could mean the end to his unfounded fantasies. He shook his head at his own indecision and pulled a glass from the cupboard above the sink. Ryan let the tap run ice cold before he filled it and drank. Long pulls of water to help sober him up. He had a girlfriend, a life. There was no reason to relive his college years. But Jackie had somehow captured a part of his heart that he couldn’t give up. It belonged to her and maybe it always would.
“Stop being a fucking pussy and read it!” he said out loud to himself. He opened the card.
Ryan,
I was truly stunned to get a letter from you.
Life’s been . . .
Maybe I should just tell you what I like and don’t like these days to kick this letter off.
I hate pigeons and dirty socks. I hate stubbing my big toe. I hate picking a scab a little too early. I hate all the mistakes I’ve made. I hate that my sisters died. I hate that my Dad has no coping skills. I hate that I’m alone. I miss Lola and Rose.
I like knowing what’s going on inside your head. I like picking pumpkins and I like your chuckle. I like the memory of when your hand was in mine. I like reading and my heart skipped a beat when I saw I had a letter from you.
It’s been a while though and picturing your smile is almost just a ghost from another life.
Jackie
Chapter 29
Jackie
Jackie wanted to not care that she had another letter from Ryan. She wanted to be unaffected by it but she couldn’t deny that seeing his handwriting on an envelope in her mailbox made her heart skip a beat. She couldn’t halt the smile that spread across her face. She hurried up the stairs to her apartment. Pushing through the door, she dropped her purse on the floor. Toed off her shoes and tossed the boring stack of mail on the countertop, while clutching the letter from Ryan.
She plopped on the couch and tore into the end of the envelope. Pulling the letter out she paused for a moment.
Jack,
It’s so good to hear from you. So. Good. I never wanted to worry because you’ve always been strong. You’re a rock, Jackie and sometimes it’s hard to get through to the soft part. I’d tell myself you were strong and try to drown out the doubt. But God, it creeped in and I worried a lot. Hashed everything out in my mind, wondering if I’d done right by giving you the space that you asked for. I know the human heart is a muscle, even though we never think of it that way. But I swear to you, I could feel mine relax when I found out that you were alive and okay.
Not that I know much about grieving and loss, but I think it’s normal to still take it hard. It was a huge tragedy. Just a monumental loss. I’m sorry that it happened to you and I’m sorry that your father hasn’t been there like you needed him to be. I also can’t help but kick myself in the ass for not pushing you harder. I wanted to be there for you, Jackie. That more than anything else.
I think about pumpkins, too. Your smile and the sound of your laugh. About how it felt to wake up next to you in the morning. Your chronically cold feet against my calves and the culprit of those frozen feet—your damn flip-flops. You in my football jersey and not much else. I think about making love stranded in a white-out blizzard, holding you when you’d cry, and the first moment I laid eyes on you, cursing out strangers who were holding up the line. The list goes on and I could easily come up with a hundred thoughts that spark a memory of you. All of them good and true and more real to me than the recent ones I’ve made. I’m not sure what that says about me or even about you, but I do know one thing without a doubt; I truly miss you.
Ryan
Jackie clutched the letter to her chest. She didn’t have words to write back. She wanted to think on what he’d said. She wanted to form the perfect response. Instead of being completely pathetic and over analyzing every word he’d written and how to respond, she called Rose. Read the letter to her and listened to Rose’s wisdom on the matter.
And just like that, she and Ryan became pen pals. Handwritten letters came easier to them than texts or email. They never Skyped or chatted on the phone or exchanged pictures, but what they did do was open up to one another in their letters. Sometimes they wrote regularly and sometimes they had dry spells. Every once in a while, Jackie would burn him mixed CDs or Ryan would send her a present. They were baby steps and maybe ultimately they wouldn’t mean anything, but the letters were a great comfort to both of them and the process was one of healing.
Jackie looked around the bar. It was a veritable sea of attractive dudes but she found herself uninterested. Her co-worker, Jenny, nudged her shoulder. “Any chance you like anything you see?” Lately, Jenny had been on a mission—Operation Hook Jackie Up. The first year Jenny came on board at Buck’s, she had been relentless about needing a wing-woman. That had morphed into becoming a wing-woman for Jackie, whether she wanted one or not.
Jackie chuckled. “There are so many hot ones, but I don’t know.”
Jenny made a face at her and dropped her forehead to the bar top.
“Look, I’m weird, alright. I don’t need a man.”
“We all need a man. For sex. For pleasure,” Jenny said.
Jackie laughed. “I’m okay, really. I promise you.”
Jenny shot her a look that could wound. “I think you lie. You, Jackie, are a dirty, dirty liar who needs an orgasm ASAP.” Jackie crossed her eyes and poked her tongue out at her co-worker. “If you keep that face up—you will never have an orgasm again.”
“You think cross-eyes would keep me from helping myself out?”
Jenny snorted. “Self-orgasms do not count.”
“Listen, I appreciate the thoughtfulness behind your mission but I’m just not feelin’ it right now.” She looked at her phone. “And I kinda wanna go home and Netflix binge before bed.” Jackie bit her bottom lip and gave what she hoped was her best ‘you-know-you-love-me-anyway’ expression.
Jackie sat crossed legged while she re-read the letter she wrote, twice, before deciding it was okay. Jenny had been pissed that she’d bailed and went home. Especially when she found out it was to write a letter to a long lost love who may or may not be a viable dating option. But Jackie found she wanted to share her mundane daily life events with Ryan. She could call. She probably should call—but there was something better about writing it down. About sending letters. The years of letters felt romantic,
even if they never saw each other again. Maybe it was the old fashioned quality or the waiting game between sending and receiving that made it feel more special. It didn’t matter. Jackie was letting her heart lead her. And writing letters felt right. It had taken her an hour to burn a CD with the right songs. She’d mail it separately but hoped it would arrive the same day the letter did. Sometimes, speaking through lyrics was more poignant than writing words down. She’d combed through her music library to dig out all the old songs that made her think of him. Songs they’d belted out in his truck together. Songs they’d made love to. Songs she hoped would subliminally keep her on Ryan’s mind throughout the months.
Chapter 30
Ryan
Ryan tore the envelope open in a rush, just like he did every time he got one from her. They didn’t come weekly, sometimes not even monthly, but when they arrived, his whole body lit up. Which over the years had been a source of contention with some of the women he dated.
Ryan,
Being with you was the happiest time in my life. I can’t deny that. Every memory with you in it, even the awful moments for me, make me smile.
Enough about that, though. Let me tell you about the student driver I had this session. Fact one: the dude is color blind. Specifically to reds.
Fact two: his dad is a race car driver.
We’re on our third day out driving. I’m buckled in with my coffee and clipboard. We’re practicing highway driving. I ask him to turn onto the on-ramp. He does. I remind him that merging means he has to yield. He guns it. I mean, the kid takes the Kia from twenty five to seventy in under thirty seconds. If my heart didn’t start beating then, I might have remembered to brake on my side. He screams out yeehaw. I shit you not. Yeehaw. And swings into the left lane. I am gently trying to remind him that he: A. didn’t use a blinker and B. didn’t yield while merging and C. to slow the fuck down, please. All of which he ignores. (Have I mentioned I love my job? I really do—most days) Anyway, he keeps speeding up. I start pumping my brake pedal but I can’t do much without causing an accident. Blue lights light up the rearview and the kid goes from joyride-bo-duke to shitting his pants. Like so bad, that he can’t execute slowing down, pulling over and functioning. I take control of the car. Which was a feat, lemme tell you. He can’t use the gas or brake and getting him to move his foot in his state was damn near impossible. I pull us over. The cop approaches his window. The kid has a knee jerk reaction and stomps on the gas pedal. The car jumps in place and revs, scaring the crap out of the cop. So, what happens next, you ask? The cop pulls his gun and starts screaming. I throw my hands up and try yelling what happened but the cop rips the kid from the car and throws him against the hood. (Stop laughing, Ry.) I jump out of the car to explain and the cop holds the kid’s head to the hood with one hand and points his gun at me with the other. Thank God I have some fast talking skills. I was able to explain the situation. The kid was issued a warning and I was slapped with a fine—which sucks but is what it is. So I take over and get us off the highway. When we’re about two miles from the driving school, I tell him we need to switch places. So I pull over, and swap with him. He manages to blow two stop signs in two miles. Color blind! Ack. So . . . as you can imagine, my mouth got the better of my brain and I reamed him out. He cried. A teenage boy. I made a teenage boy cry. I felt like dirt, but then when we pulled into the school’s lot, his father was there to pick him up. As a surprise. He was back from some race somewhere. The kid lost it, Ry. LOST IT. The dad took one look at his son and started screaming at me. The kid tried to jump him but it really didn’t matter at that point. I held my own—obviously, and explained the driving lesson to him. I have never seen a man so smokin’ mad. He grabbed his son by the collar and all but dragged him to the car.
Anyway, my days are never the same. Either I’m teaching rules of the road in the classroom or I’m out driving with one of my students. It’s a thrill every damn day.
Also, keep watch for a package, I might have mailed you a something. I think you’ll dig it.
Wow, guess I had a lot to tell you. Sorry for the rant!
Xo, Jackie
Chapter 31
Jackie
Rose and Lola were visiting. Lola ran around the living room floor, babbling on about Tinker Bell and magic. Jackie watched in awe. She had grown so much already and was due to start school in the fall. How had four years already passed in California? Her blonde wispy hair curled at the ends in the most adorable way. Jackie held her hands open to her. Lola giggled and body slammed her in a hug.
“I am so tired. I thought having an infant was supposed to be the hard part but this toddler thing is proving harder.” Rose rested her head on the back of the couch.
“Do you want me to take Lola to the playground? You can take a nap.”
Rose picked her head up and glared at Jackie. “Do I look that bad? Do I need a nap?”
“Calm your tits, woman. It was an offer out of love.” Jackie snorted when Rose’s face wrinkled up.
“Ugh. I’m so testy lately. No. I don’t want a nap. I want to visit with you. Let’s all go to the park. Lola can play and we can catch up.”
“I really don’t mind.”
“I said I want to see you,” Rose said.
“Okay, okay,” Jackie said and held her hands up in mock surrender. “But tonight, Lola sleeps with me so you can have at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.”
Rose laughed and held out a hand to shake. “Now, that’s a deal.”
Lola spent most of the hour at the playground sitting in the wood chips, scooping then in her little hands and then tossing them into the air—but hey—whatever made the kiddo happy. Jackie filled Rose in on the latest Ryan gossip and admitted to burning a CD like it was 1998 for him.
“I’m a little nervous because he hasn’t written back yet. I mean, what if the CD was overkill?”
Rose snorted. “Please. He’s probably been too busy beating off to write a letter. Just relax. I read all his letters last night. He is definitely not giving up on you over a mix CD.”
“You what?” Jackie asked.
Rose swatted the air between them. “The box of letters was right next to the couch. I couldn’t sleep. So, I read them. I mean how am I supposed to ignore my besties years of letters from a star crossed lover?”
“You really are something,” Jackie muttered.
“What? You’ve already read half of them out loud to me. What’s the difference?”
Jackie shrugged. “Nothing really. I don’t know.”
“Are you really mad?” Rose asked and pouted.
Jackie looked at her best friend and puckered her lips. She narrowed her eyes and then, “Naw. Not really. It’s you. Figures you’d find them and read them.”
Rose grinned. “Exactly.”
“Mom.” Lola’s little voice cut through the air.
Jackie and Rose both looked to her. “Mommy. Look!” Lola had buried herself in wood chips. She’d covered her legs and most of her torso. Jackie burst out laughing. Rose groaned before standing and heading toward her little angel.
“Are you going to check the mail?” Rose asked. “I mean, it’s like six and you haven’t picked it up yet.” Jackie rolled her eyes. “Is it cause I’m here? Come on.”
Jackie stuffed another ravioli in her mouth. Lola slapped her hands on the table. Jackie forked a bite for her and made airplane sounds as she moved it through the air and into Lola’s open, waiting mouth. Rose shot Jackie a look. Lola was too old for airplane antics but Jackie liked to baby her and Lola loved the attention.
“After dinner,” Jackie said. Her knee bounced under the table. Rose’s foot slapped down on top of hers.
“Your leg says now, Mrs. Nervous Energy.”
Jackie cracked her neck. “Sometimes I really hate that you know me so well.”
Rose leaned back in her chair and laughed. “Go. Now.”
Jackie pushed back from the table and stood. She didn’t bother with shoes. In
her bare feet, she padded out of the apartment and down the stairs to her mailbox. She keyed it open and pulled everything out. On her way upstairs she thumbed through the stack.
Bingo.
“I knew it!” Rose squealed when she pushed through the door.
“Knew what?”
“There was a letter.”
“How do you know?” Jackie scoffed.
“That shit eating grin you’re wearing.” Jackie cocked her head and rolled her eyes. “Yup. There’s a letter. Come on, let’s put on a show for Lola and read that bitch.” Rose practically jumped up. She cleared the three dishes from the table at lightning speed. Jackie laughed and scooped Lola into her arms. She plopped them both down on the couch. Lola giggled and said ‘agen.’ Jackie stood, counted to three and then dropped them to the couch. Rose snatched the letter from her hand, effectively ending Lola’s play time. Jackie set Lola to her left and queued up a Netflix cartoon for her.
“Rose, give it here.”
Rose smirked. “I should open it.”
“Don’t.” Jackie’s stomach clenched. She liked to hold the letter first. Feel it between her fingers. Sometimes she swore she could smell Ryan on the paper. She liked to see his handwriting. Was the address written messily? Was it rushed or did he take his time. Jackie realized how insane her thoughts were but she couldn’t help it.
“Ohhh someone’s a little anal about her letters.”
“I am.”
Rose’s cheeks tinged pink and she handed the envelope to Jackie without another word.
Dear Jack,
I bust up laughing every time I think of you kicking those student drivers’ asses into gear. I bet you’re a great teacher and I bet you scare the fuck out of them (in a good way, of course). It’s crazy to me to think that some of my nieces will be driving soon. Where does the time go? And how do we know if we’re spending it the right way? The mixed CD you sent rocked my world. I mean that seriously. Every song on there took me back to a special place or a moment. I can see them all so clearly, Jackie and I don’t feel that way about most of my life. The parts with you in it are in sharper focus and they stand out so much. I think I’m at the point where I want to do something about it. But it’s hard for me to tell if you’re open to seeing me, meeting up and feeling out where we stand. I want to say I know you better than anyone, Jack, but you’re still an enigma. I listen to those songs and I get sentimental, but something else happens, too. I start wanting you again, as if I never stopped. My feelings are still here. Where are yours?
