Page 32 of The Christmas Letters
I’m glad you mentioned the beach. It does the same thing for me. Fills me up in all the ways you mentioned. It’s always been where I go when I need to think, when I need to puzzle over problems in my life. But I haven’t been there much lately, and you’ve inspired me to make it a priority.
You asked me about the life I lost. It’s a hard question. I can’t be too sad about it because the loss was a result of a decision I made, and I know it was the right thing to do for everyone involved. But it still changed everything about what my future looks like. And that’s what has left me feeling lost. Like I’m having to find myself all over again, define myself in this new reality.
The truth is, I spent a lot of years fighting against who everyone else wanted me to be. Now I don’t have to fight anymore. I’m free to do and be whoever I want. But I’m not sure I really know who that is. I’m working on figuring it out. I should probably be a little more patient with myself.
Congratulations! I just told you more about my fears and insecurities than I’ve ever told anyone else. Feel free to send me a bill for the therapy.
Now it’s your turn. Tell me something about you.Three somethings, actually. Three random things I might not guess just by looking at you.
(Funny, even if I could look at you, I wouldn’t know you. I admit, I have wondered if we’ve ever passed each other on the street, if we’ve eaten at the same restaurant at the same time, or if we have any acquaintances in common. This is such a strange way for friendships to form, and yet, I do feel like this is a friendship. I hope that doesn’t seem too forward.)
Since I already tossed the question to you, it’s only fair I play along, so here are three random things about me.
Number one. I am really good at cornhole. Stupidly good. Like if I didn’t think the shirts they had to wear were so ugly, I could go onto ESPN and win the National Cornhole Championship without breaking a sweat.
Two. I graduated from college with a degree that I hate and don’t think I’ll ever use. I’m working on fixing this. Hopefully.
And three. A year ago, I started listening to audiobooks and now I’m totally hooked. Fiction, nonfiction, all of them. I love that I can listen and learn while I’m doing other things. Plus, if I’m listening to books, I can’t hear all the doubts swirling around in my head.
Too much information? Probably so. Please tell me something about you that will make me feel better.
Warmly, Your Christmas Pen Pal
I read the entire thing through, then immediately jump back to the beginning and read it again.
Whoever wrote it sounds fun.Real.Would it be weird if I stopped by Francie’s deli to get my own take on what, exactly, Francie meant by beautiful? Maybe she could describe the woman. Give me hair color, eye color, a guess at how old she might be.
I reread the part about cornhole, smiling the whole time.
I’m already thinking about the three things to include in my return letter when Grandma Pearl crosses back into the room. She settles under her blanket and reaches for the popcorn.
“Have you ever seen this one?” she asks, nodding toward the television.
I tuck the letter back into my pocket. “Not that I can remember. What’s it about?”
“Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks are secret pen pals via email,” she says without missing a beat. “And then they fall in love.”
I shoot her a look. “Did you pick this movie on purpose? Because you knew I was coming over?”
She smirks, the creases on either side of her face deepening. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re terrible. You know that, right?” I reach for another handful of popcorn. “Just play the movie already.”
It isn’t hard to pick up the threads of the storyline, even halfway through. There are definitely similarities to my pen pal situation, though it isn’t exactlythe same. The characters in the movie know each other in person without knowing the emails they’re exchanging are with each other. Still, it only takes a minute for me to be hooked, and I love the whole thing, right down to the cheesy line where Meg Ryan’s character, when she learns that her pen pal is also the guy she’s been sparring with through the whole movie, tells Tom Hanks that she wanted it to be him.
For a brief moment, I indulge in the possibility of my pen pal beingTess,but that doesn’t make enough sense to give it more than a passing thought. It would solve my problem of thinking about both women at the same time, but there’s just no way a coincidence that strong could ever be real.
Grandma Pearl turns off the television when the ending credits start to roll. “I do love a good romance,” she says, leaning her head back onto the sofa. She looks toward me, her eyes sparkling. “What do you think? Feeling inspired?”
I roll my eyes and grin. “You can relax, Gran. I’ve already decided to write her another letter.”
She clasps her hands in front of her chest. “I have a good feeling about this, Drew.”
I’m not ready to admit it to anyone else, and I still haven’t fully shaken my disquieting thoughts about Tess, but I’ve got a good feeling about it, too.
On my way home from Ben’s, I stop by the store and pick up some actual stationery—I used printer paper for the last letter I wrote—and grab some stamps from the check-out line. It all feels very old-fashioned and weird, but I’m strangely excited to write again. And not just because of Grandma Pearl’s movie choices.
Once inside my apartment, I drop onto the couch and pull the dictionary my high school English teacher gave me as a graduation gift off the bookshelf beside me, using it as a makeshift desk.
