Letters

To: Ronnie
From: Jacky
Received at 12:23 p.m.
Dude, you’re going to be late.

I sigh as I look down at the text lighting up the screen of my phone. “No shit, Sherlock,” I mumble under my breath, pushing the covers back off of myself and slipping out of my bed. I’d stayed up way too late the night before, tweeting about things that I’m grateful for, and ended up not getting to bed until after four o’clock in the morning.

My body just isn’t used to staying up that late anymore, so I slept in well past noon. My phone continues to beep obnoxiously as I sit myself down onto the edge of my bed, rubbing my hands down my face and groaning quietly.

“Alright, alright,” I huff, reaching over and picking up the phone from where I dropped it onto the pillows, unlocking the screen and typing back a quick text to the lead guitarist of my band.

To: Jacky
From: Ronnie
Sent at 12:27 p.m.
Give me 20. I’m leaving now.

“That’s such a lie,” I state to no one in particular, standing up off the bed and dropping the phone back down onto the comforter. I do my best to whistle in an attempt to wake my pit bull, Charlie, up from where he slumbers at the end of the bed, but it just comes out sounding like a rush of air.

Whistling is one thing I’ve never been able to do.

Sighing, I shake my head at myself and pat my hand against the side of my leg. “Charlie!” I holler as I walk from the room, down the hall toward the stairs. Almost immediately I hear his paws land onto the hardwood floor of my bedroom, then scratch their way along it as he runs out of the room after me.

I found Charlie outside of the venue I played at in the fall of 2011, in Kansas City, Missouri, and I brought him home with me. He’s been my best friend ever since. Honestly, I’d be lost without him.

I shuffle my way down the stairs and to the front door, glad that I fell asleep in my skinny jeans for once, and grab Charlie’s leash from off the table in the entryway. I clip the hook to his collar then open the front door, stepping out into the bright California sunlight, and taking a deep breath.

Charlie makes his way out into the front yard to do his business and I stand on the porch watching him, his leash stretched out as far as it will go. I survey the street, which is quiet at almost all times of the day. The mailman makes his way slowly down my side of the street, the roar of his truck the only noise to be heard except for Charlie who barks at said mail truck.

I laugh softly and shake my head, shuffling down off the front porch and to the end of the driveway as the mailman stops in front of my house.

“Good morning,” he chuckles, taking in my disheveled appearance.

I grin in reply as he hands me my mail, “Thank you.” He nods his head once and takes off further down the street. “Come on, Charlie,” I state, tugging gently on his leash as I make my way back up the driveway and into the house.

Charlie bounds behind me, directly on my heels. Once we get inside, I unclip his leash and let him run the rest of the way into the house as I shuffle into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. I look down at the stack of mail in my hands and sort through them lazily, my eyes widening in surprise when I see a reply from the Willow chick who had written a couple weeks ago, looking for her friend Mark.

I set everything down except for the letter and slip a finger under the break in the seal at the edge of the envelope, swiftly ripping it open and pulling out the piece of paper inside.

Ronnie,

I’m sorry that I bothered you with my letter. I didn’t realize that Mark was no longer at your address. If I had, I wouldn’t have bothered you.

But thank you for taking the time and the effort to write me back and let me know that he’d moved on. It means so much.

Again, thank you.

Willow