Sincerely Angelica

Chapter 8 - The Right Hands

Chapter Eight 

Age seventy was ideal for my death. It was perfect; I would neither be too helpless, nor too young. By that time I would have experienced so much of the real world, like having a career, getting married, and having kids.

But as I sat on my bed with frustrated tears in my eyes, and a concerned Angelica and Christian by my side, that dream shriveled up, heaved one last puff of air, and died. Suddenly I was going to die a slow, painful death at the pitiful age of seventeen. My tomb would read: Angel Gray, beloved daughter, death by utter humiliation.

The letter arrived later than I expected. I was hoping for a steady two-week cycle--a cycle crucial for both Angelica's and I's schedules. We both realized a steady cycle might not be possible with Desmond's environment. So, I waited and waited for a letter I thought would never arrive. When it did, and I saw that dead piece of bark in my mailbox, I could hardly contain my excitement. I tried not to be a little too eager about this; I didn't want Angelica suspecting anything weird. Not that anything weird was going on--I hardly knew the guy--but sending letters was particularly fun for me. 

There was something pathetically riveting about messaging a stranger, and I wasn't ashamed to admit it. 

"Let's not expect too much out of this. Most guys in the military are jerks." Angelica was cozied along side Christian on my bed, waiting for me to read aloud the words etched on the paper. As my eyes skimmed, my heart's tempo rose, and my cheeks flushed with excitement.

"'Sincerely, Desmond.'" I finished softly. 

"He seems troubled," I said, biting my lip thoughtfully.

Christian licked his cheesy fingers clean. "Please give us a full analysis." He mumbled as he threw another chip in his mouth.

"He can't be any more blunt than he already is, genius. The man thinks he's going to die..." I said. The words before my eyes unexpectedly transformed. They were frantic words written by frantic hands.

"Oh please, he'll get over it. Help a brother out and send him something. Maybe a bag of chips or a soda." Christian held up his bag of chips in example, but was rejected by Angelica's obvious disapproval.

"How about instead of sending him some empty carbs, we send him some books for a little mental stimulation?" She said.

Christian rolled his eyes. "Mental stimulation? Where'd ya hear that from? Web MD?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Books are better than a Coke."

"Unless they're porno magazines, he's not gonna do shit with them."

Angelica scrunched her nose up in disgust. "Men."

"What's the harm in doing both?" I inquired.

"Like send him junk food and a couple of porno magazines?"

"No, Christian," I sighed. "actual books."

My bookshelf stood as lonely as ever in the corner of my room, and the idea of sending some books wasn't repulsive as I thought It'd be. Sharing a good book was like sharing a good recipe, my father once told me, It stayed with that person forever.

The next few minutes were critical.

"Alright," I said, breathless from my flight of stairs. "Here's a box. Here's some chips, now we need some books." I clasped my hands together in excitement.

"Now...what to choose..."

"Are you seriously considering sending him some books?" Christian asked in disbelief.