I wrote my first letter when I was eight. I sometimes look at it. Bad handwriting, spelling, and grammar. Scrawled on a piece of paper, my little self had said some private things I know not to say now.
Good thing I didn't send it.
My mother wishes I would write more. I gave the accident of letting her look at it. I would write, but my father refuses to let me touch his typewriter. When I explained my problem to her, she said to just write a letter to him, even though he lives with us.
She's a bit funny at times.
I still write letters, just not stories. My hand couldn't possibly handle that. Thomas Jefferson was elected when I was born. When I figured out what politics were, James Madison was elected. Many people think that Madison have a lot to stand up to.
Well, he has seven more years to prove himself! I'm thinkin' I want to help him stand out from the last three presidents. And perhaps that could work... if he listens to me.
Time to see.
Dear Mr. Madison, Orange, Virginia, February 28th, 1810
Hello, I'm a mere citizen in the U.S.A. This may or may not surprise you--my class agreed that you're tall. And that you're wise. Really, it doesn't surprise me. But I don't matter, you do!
I like your friend Thomas Jefferson too. But you helped him win, I'm sure. My teacher said so. He really likes politics. Unfortunately, he says you are very short. Hahaha, my class raged on him
We all got in trouble, but it was worth it. Also, I was looking around in my home for something to read. I found The Federalist. I found that you wrote 29 of the essays! I couldn't think to write two!
You deserve a lot of credit. You realize that, correct? Oh well, I don't have much space to write... My advice: Be smart with your actions and what you say.
Alexander Hamilton can teach you that, I'm sure.
Best wishes,
Matilda Staindrop
Good, good. I folded the paper into thirds and slipped it into a new envelope. It's relatively short and easy advice, I thought. He'd listen to me. Definitely.
I asked my father if I could use the wax seal. He nodded, so I did. Quickly but nicely writing the address, I was bouncing in excitement. Slipped the letter in the mail, ready to know if he replied or not. In this case, not. Easy come, easy go, or how the saying goes.
As a reasonable child, I shrugged it off, decided he was busy, and moved on with my life. I practiced piano, like I always did. I was taught how to sew and how to thank God, quietly, that my father refused to have slaves.
"A man that refuses slavery is always a good man," my mother assured me one day. I had agreed, I always did. "A man that stays and feeds us is better than no man at all," she has also told me. My father always tells my mother her words are true.
He could be correct. He is a little rich, and he went to a successful school. I've never heard of it though. My father always is kind, he is always kind to my mother, he is always there for me, he is always ready to make the right choice, and he loves me as his youngest and only daughter.
Every Sunday evening we would write to my eldest brother. He had met a beautiful woman and had won her heart. He graduated college two years earlier, and every time he served as a duel's second, all men left alive and well.
We would also write to my youngest brother. He also met a beautiful woman, and she won his heart. "With sheer luck," he wrote in one of his letters from New York, "she required my love. I used the worth of my good lawyer to make her a divorce." My father was discouraged at the fact he married a divorced woman, but was assured she was rich.
Or, more accurately, her father was rich.
Either way, I was just like each of these women. Rich father, very beautiful (as my mother says, I barely saw mirrors) and waiting for a man. That's how my mother saw it. I didn't think I would have a choice in which who I would marry.
I don't exactly like that.
It gave me distaste. It reminded me I was a girl in this world, and how I was supposedly just for marrying off. All the girls tell me that in my school, and all the boys tell me that my father is going to marry me off to them.
I always replied to the girls, "Is that so, because we're only ten, and you are certainly not focusing on the lesson we're going to have a pop quiz on." That always quieted them down.
The boys were much harder. So I was much more direct. "If you want your fathers to know how much you bug me, you should keep talking," I would answer. That usually quieted them down.
One day, on a Saturday, I was asked to check the mail. I skipped out and looked in the mail. "Oh..." There was only one letter. I looked at the wording. Scribbled handwriting.
I walked in and handed the envelope to my father. He nodded and sent me to my room. I walked up and studied.
Textbook. Read. Textbook. Written. Textbook. Worn inside and out. Once every single textbook was paged through, I walked down.
"Father?"
"Outside. Dinner's soon." I walked around the house twice before settling in the garden. There was a large forest on the other side, and when I smelled the air there was the sharp scent of pine trees.
Except today, I smelled smoke. A voice screamed from the woods, "FIRE!! STOP, DROP, AND ROLL!!" Confused, all I could do was watch.
A boy with messy brown hair rolled out of the woods. I saw a bright yellow. It seemed like a more extreme yellow. Thud!
I heard a muffled "ow,". I leaned over the hedges, but I saw no bright yellow next to it.
"Yo! Garden Girl! Over here." I looked over to my right. The bright yellow boy was laying next to the hedges.
"Yes?"
"A little help?"
"I'm not allowed to speak with strangers."
"Wha- Okay, I'm currently hurt, and you say that?" He stood up and dusted himself off.
"Where is your parents?" Are all boys allow to run around in the mud?
"In California," he said as if it were common knowledge.
"Cah-lih-four-nee-ah?" I sounded out each syllable slowly.
"Yeah. One of the 50 states of America?" He looked like I was dumb. I frowned at him.
"There's only 18. See, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Maryland, South Carolina, New Hampshire, Virginia, New York, North Carolina, Rhode Island, Vermont, Kentucky, Tennessee, Ohio and Louisiana. Everyone knows that."
Instead of making a sharp retort, the boy blinked. "You have a good memory! Could you help me study?"
"What?"
"Back in California, I have a History test. It makes up a fourth of my grade, and I need to pass it."
"I can't go to Cantaloupe with someone I don't even know his name!" I exclaimed, stepping away from him.
"Cah-lih-four-nee-ah," the boy enunciated. "And I'm James."
"Like James Madison? You're named after the current president?" My interest peaked.
"The current? Alright, that explains the getup." I looked down at my clothes and looked back at James. "Trust me, after this I'll take you back here. And no time will have past! Just a week in my time, I promise."
"Your time?"
"In the 21st century."
"Um, okay, if you swear."
"I swear on my life. Happy, Garden Girl?"
"Matilda."
"Like the witch?" James asked.
"I'm not a witch!"
"Nevermind. We'll talk about that later." He grabbed my hand. I jerked it back.
"Wait, you have to tell me that bright yellow clothing you're wearing."
"This?" He motioned at his upper clothing. "This is just a hoodie. It's neon yellow." My head was swimming with this new information.
"Okay, I'll go with you. And I'll help you with your History test that makes up your grape."
"My gra- You know what? Never mind, let's go." James grabbed my hands into a swirl of colors.
Hi! This is just the first chapter, and boy will I hate it! (In the future, when I fix all these old chapters) What do you think of it?