Status: Hiatus
Letters
That was when my life was simple.
Willow,
Hello, my name is Ronnie, and I live in the house that you sent the letter to your friend to. I’m not sure who you’re writing to, other than his name is Mark, or where he’s gone to. Normally I would have just considered your letter to be junk mail and thrown it away, but something about it drew me in. So I had to open it. And after reading it, I felt compelled to reply.
I’m sorry if you consider that an invasion of privacy, but I have no concept of that word.
Anyway, I just thought that I would write to let you know that your friend is no longer at this address, and he has left no forwarding address behind.
My deepest apologies,
Ronnie Radke
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I set the letter down onto the kitchen table in front of me. Sighing, I lean back into my chair and rub my hands over my face.
This is wonderful; it’s been four years since I’ve spoken to my best friend, and now that I’ve finally worked up the courage to speak to him again, he’s moved on. More than likely having forgot about me long ago.
Mark and I go back to my senior year of high school. He was the new kid at the school, had just moved to Los Angeles from Surrey in the southern part of England. No one liked him because he was the weird, new kid. By weird, I mean that he sat alone at lunch and read comic books. But something about him drew me in, and one day, I joined him at lunch, and we instantly became friends.
That was when my life was simple.
Shaking my head, I pull myself to my feet and pick up my nearly empty coffee cup from the kitchen table, carrying it over to the sink and dumping out the remainder of the liquid.
“Time for work,” I murmur to my cat, who sleeps on the counter next to the stove. He doesn’t budge. I glance over at his water bowl to make sure he has enough for the day until I get home at 5, then make my way out of the kitchen and into the garage, grabbing my purse and keys along the way.
I climb into my 2010 silver Mazda 3 and start it up, pressing the button clipped to my sun visor to open the garage door. As I make my way toward the school where I teach kindergarten, I think over the letter I received, turning the man’s words over and over again in my head.
My only question is; what am I going to do with his information?
Hello, my name is Ronnie, and I live in the house that you sent the letter to your friend to. I’m not sure who you’re writing to, other than his name is Mark, or where he’s gone to. Normally I would have just considered your letter to be junk mail and thrown it away, but something about it drew me in. So I had to open it. And after reading it, I felt compelled to reply.
I’m sorry if you consider that an invasion of privacy, but I have no concept of that word.
Anyway, I just thought that I would write to let you know that your friend is no longer at this address, and he has left no forwarding address behind.
My deepest apologies,
Ronnie Radke
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I set the letter down onto the kitchen table in front of me. Sighing, I lean back into my chair and rub my hands over my face.
This is wonderful; it’s been four years since I’ve spoken to my best friend, and now that I’ve finally worked up the courage to speak to him again, he’s moved on. More than likely having forgot about me long ago.
Mark and I go back to my senior year of high school. He was the new kid at the school, had just moved to Los Angeles from Surrey in the southern part of England. No one liked him because he was the weird, new kid. By weird, I mean that he sat alone at lunch and read comic books. But something about him drew me in, and one day, I joined him at lunch, and we instantly became friends.
That was when my life was simple.
Shaking my head, I pull myself to my feet and pick up my nearly empty coffee cup from the kitchen table, carrying it over to the sink and dumping out the remainder of the liquid.
“Time for work,” I murmur to my cat, who sleeps on the counter next to the stove. He doesn’t budge. I glance over at his water bowl to make sure he has enough for the day until I get home at 5, then make my way out of the kitchen and into the garage, grabbing my purse and keys along the way.
I climb into my 2010 silver Mazda 3 and start it up, pressing the button clipped to my sun visor to open the garage door. As I make my way toward the school where I teach kindergarten, I think over the letter I received, turning the man’s words over and over again in my head.
My only question is; what am I going to do with his information?