Page 19 of Nineteen Letters
Closing the card, I ponder his words. I’m touched that he has gone to these lengths, but I can’t see how a few letters are going to help. How he can show up here day after day with a smile on his face when I treat him the way I do. He’s a better person than I am; I would have given up on me weeks ago.
My fingers hover over the lid, and then I take a breath and open it. I run my fingertips over the white-gold chain. He wasn’t lying when he said the memory bracelet was empty. Just like me.
I continue to run my fingers over the links. Deep inside I know this is my way of stalling. I’m afraid to read the letter. I don’t want to be freaked out by a past I’ve forgotten, yet there’s a part of me that yearns to read what he has to say.
Letter one …
Dearest Jemma,
The nineteenth of January 1996 was an important day from our past. I’ll never forget it. It was the day we met, and the day that changed my life forever.
For you to get a clearer picture of the impact this day had on me, I should start by telling you what my life was like before we met.
Like you, I’m an only child. My father, John Spencer, owned and managed the local hardware store. It’s something he inherited when his father died. Hardware was never his thing, but he wanted to keep my grandfather’s dream alive, and gave up his own aspirations in life to do just that. He’s a good man, my father; one of the best.
There wasn’t a lot of money in hardware, so things were pretty tight. Apart from two casual employees, he ran the store on his own, which meant long hours away from his home and family. What I remember most when I think of him is his absence, but I understand why it had to be that way.
He would leave for the store before I woke, and some nights I was already in bed when he returned. Once I started school, my mother, Grace, took a job as a receptionist to help make ends meet. I heard my dad telling my mum one night that we were in danger of losing our house.
I had a great childhood nevertheless. I was happy enough, but when I think back to the times before youmoved in next door, what stands out the most is the loneliness I felt. With both parents working, I was home on my own a lot. No other children were living in our street. I used to look forward to going to school so I could play with the other kids. Then you came along, and everything changed.
I still remember that day vividly. It was a hot summer Friday afternoon. Unlike most kids, I didn’t look forward to the weekends. Sure, I got to watch cartoons on a Saturday morning, but once they were finished, there wasn’t much to do. My father was at the store, and my mother used that time to catch up on housework, laundry, and preparing meals for the coming week. My days were spent riding my bike up and down the street or kicking a ball around the yard on my own.
Sunday afternoon was my favourite time. My mum would cook a roast dinner every Sunday, and it was also the one day my father closed the store early. It was our family night. If the weather was good, he’d kick the ball around with me in the backyard, until Mum called us inside for dinner.
When I close my eyes, I can still remember the delicious aromas that filled the house as the roast cookedin the oven. After dinner, we played board games. I miss those times.
It was the school holidays, so I was bored out of my brain. I was lying on the sofa watching television when I heard the loud rumble of an engine coming from outside. I jumped up, and through the window, I saw a large truck parked in the driveway next door. I can’t remember the name of the company—I was only seven—but I remember the large, bold, blue letters and the word ‘REMOVALIST’ down the side.
The fact that we were getting new neighbours should have excited me, but it didn’t. I missed the old couple, Mr and Mrs Gardener, who used to live next door. She used to bake chocolate chip cookies every weekend and would bring me a special batch with extra chocolate chips. To this day, I still miss those cookies.
I didn’t want new neighbours. All I could think about were the cookies I would never get to eat again. Cookies are important to seven-year-olds.
My shoulders were slumped and I’m pretty sure my feet were dragging as I headed into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of milk. Thinking about those cookies made me thirsty.
I’d only managed to take a sip when the phone rang. I climbed onto the countertop and reached for the receiver that hung high on the wall. I already knew it would be my mum or dad. They called many times throughout the day to make sure I was okay. My parents hated I was left alone so much, but we needed the money that their jobs provided.
“New people are moving in next door,” I told my dad.
“Oh yes, Joe mentioned it.” Joe Pentecost was the local real estate agent and a friend of my father’s. “I believe they have a daughter who’s about your age.”
Those words instantly got my attention and gave me the pick-me-up I needed. Having someone my age living next door far outweighed my need for chocolate chip cookies.
The moment I was off the phone, I gulped down my milk and grabbed my bike from the back shed. I was desperate to get a glimpse of you as I pushed my bike down the driveway. I wasn’t even disappointed that you were a girl. I was just excited by the prospect of a new friend.
I hovered around the front yard waiting, but there was no sign of you. That’s when I climbed on my bike and moved to the street. I rode around in circles waiting for you to come out of the house, but your father and the removal guys were the only people I saw.
A lot of time passed, and I was ready to give up and go inside, but for some reason, my eyes were drawn to one of the windows on the upper floor. I think my heart actually skipped a beat when I saw you leaning against the glass windowpane, looking down at me.
A smile exploded onto your face, and I immediately reciprocated. I still remember the way my heart raced. I was so focused on you that I hadn’t noticed how close I’d come to the gutter until it was too late. Before I knew what was happening, I’d been flung over the handlebars and landed with a thud on the asphalt.
I lay there for a short time. I wasn’t going to cry, no matter how much my fall had hurt. I’d already embarrassed myself enough.
I finally found the strength to move, and when I did, I flinched. It took every bit of strength I had not to cry. As I tried to stand, a shadow fell over me. When my gaze snapped up to you, I swear you looked like an angel with the sun forming a bright halo around your pretty face.
“Are you okay?” you asked, crouching down to my level. I wasn’t okay, but I forced out a tight smile, trying to brush it off. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding,” you said quickly.
Looking down at my grazed knee, and the blood that was now trickling down my leg, made the milk I’d drunkearlier rise to the back of my throat. I kept telling myself not to throw up in front of you. I’d already made a horrible first impression; if I could have had a re-do, I would have chucked a really cool wheelie instead of stacking it.
