Shelton Family Saga

Chapter 60

Frankie 2021

Who in the hell was sending him these letters? Frankie was entirely too old for this type of foolery, and didn't have time to be playing any childish games. He glanced down at the letter in his hand and studied the writing carefully, Dear Cinnamon Stick. The greeting signaled it had to be someone close to Corey. The first two letters had been addressed Dear Frankie, but this third letter referred to him as Cinnamon Stick, Corey's pet name for him. Obviously, the sender was someone who knew Corey well. Frankie was sure of it, because who else would be addressing him by the nickname Corey had for him? Corey used to tease him that he was skinny as a toothpick, but spicy as cinnamon, so Cinnamon Stick was the pet name Corey had for him. No one called him Cinnamon Stick BUT Corey; so whoever the sender was, was a cruel and sick person; especially since Corey was gone now. And, just what the hell did this righteous sinner know about Corey's upbringing? Corey had been with Ms. Hattie since he was a baby; at least that's what Corey had told him.

Frankie's emotions emphatically turned to disgust. He couldn't fathom Corey living in the projects and felt everything in all three of the letters were an outright lie. It just had to be. Who would be cruel enough to say such awful things about Corey? Frankie didn't know what to think. He just knew he needed something to put his mind at ease. He needed his smokes. He usually had his Virginia Slims nearby in his purse, but he'd been smoking extra heavy in the past couple of years since Corey's death, and always seem to be running low, if he wasn't completely out; but, he did keep an emergency pack of cigarettes in a side zippered pocket. Right now seemed to be as good of a time as any to break into his emergency pack. They were Benson & Hedges Full Flavor 100's, and he only kept one pack of them, because the Benson & Hedges were Corey's nicotine pick. His own personal choice was the Virginia Slims. He pulled the cigarettes out of his purse, flipping the pack upside down giving it five repetitive hard taps against the palm of his hand. He needed to pack the tobacco well, so he could get all the flavor from it, even on the first pull. Tearing the paper off the pack, he again forcefully tapped the pack causing one to slowly edge out. Pulling it all the way out, he stuck it between his lips making sure to only light the tip end of it, and careful not to burn the sides of the paper. Inhaling deeply, he gathered all his cares in a bunch and let them carelessly drift about as he exhaled blowing his smoke in a perfect stream out in front of him. As his shoulders went from being hunched up to dropping into a more relaxed state, he allowed his thoughts to escape through his lips. Corey, Corey, Corey. What a horror story. To know you was to love you, and thats why you'll always be my hunny. Hopefully, Kevin's ass is in Heaven, or maybe Hell, shee-it for all I know it's probably his ass sending these letters. Ol' dirty ass bastard!

The tears began to flow. Softly down his cheeks in a straight line on his face. Frankie wasn't able to properly categorize his emotions. He didn't know if he was sad, confused, lonely, or all of those things? Or if he was just in deep grief? He thought about the letters again. There were three of them. Who was this anonymous righteous sinner that got so much joy out of breaking him down like this? The 1st letter had boggled his mind, the 2nd letter shook the core of his being, and the third letter was crushing his spirit. Hmmn, having his mind, body AND spirit affected was surely a sign. Maybe this was the end of him as a person, too. Oh, hell no huntee, the Devil is a liar! he solemnly reminded himself. He'd been through too much and survived it all to be thinking his life was done. He may be down, but one thing for sure, he wasn't out. Never had been and never would be until his Heavenly Father decided to call him home. He was forty-six years old, which was super close to fifty. Maybe this was just his wisdom settling in. He thought to himself how most old hags he knew that were close to fifty thought this way, too. He smirked and thanked God he wasn't an old hag; but, rather still a pretty young thing.