Read a Letter

I’m fixing to read a letter.

It was mixed in among the stack of mail in my box, the cards from retailers carrying on about what a great sale they had going on, the business looking envelope from the TV sellers whom I had previously abandoned, the big fat envelope from Publishers Clearing House, which I knew was full of coupons promising gigantic discounts on contraptions nobody needed and cans of spray for this and that, and there were the catalogs. Everybody was selling something.

I was in the process of dumping it all into the trash can when the letter caught my eye. It was stuck in between an invitation from a credit card company and the New York Times.

My name and address were hand written on it and there was also a handwritten return address in the top left corner of the envelope.

I numbly dropped all of the aforementioned, with the exception of the letter, into the trash and turned my full attention towards the lone piece which had caught my attention. I had to sit down before I read it, because it was a letter from my Cousin Elroy!

If you might just remember, my cousin had bolted down to Gulf Shores as his method of dealing with the difficulties resulting from his bad habits. That had been several weeks ago during which I hadn’t seen nor heard from him, and now here came this letter!

An anxious feeling to immediately rip the envelope open and reveal its contents almost overcame me, but I weathered it and made decision to sit down and read it while I took some refreshments.

What I did was make my self a big ham sandwich with a lot of mayonnaise slathered on the bread. Then I sliced a hothouse tomato, about the best you can get this time of year, and sprinkled some salt and pepper on them before I slapped the top slice of bread on.

I needed something to drink so I fixed up a quart fruit jar with ice tea, leaving enough room in the jar for a few drops of my secret ingredient.

I settled down in front of the TV and took my first bite of the ham sandwich. It was real tasty.

Then, with trembling hands, I opened the letter.

It began: “Hey, Cuz. I’m still down here in LA attempting to rehabilitate myself. After everything that happened to me at home I have come to realize that a real man needs a good dose of rejection once in awhile, and he don’t let it get him down neither, no sir, what he does is use the experience to inspire himself.”

These first few lines of the letter were encouraging, and I was anxious to read on.

But I’m out of space and this is fixing to be continued.