Letters For Emily

by Camron Wright

  In many ways, Emily, I felt I gave up a chance at my dream of being a poet for that of a lesser dream. And yet, there would be days when I’d watch Kathryn sitting on the front porch, sewing and waving to all the neighbors, and I’d wonder if it wasn’t the greater dream after all.

  Follow your dreams, make your best choices, and peace will come as you realize that you are on the best path for yourself. Your journey is unique. What is nourishment toothers, may in fact be poison to you. Have dreams, but be content with your journey.

  Before I end for today, I need to tell you that I was finally published, in a manner of speaking. In my employment at Allsop & Martin Advertising, I handled the outdoor advertising accounts of several national customers. I’ll bet you had no idea that your Grandpa Harry coined the slogan, “No Awful Waffles at Willy’s.” It was the longest-running billboard campaign for any restaurant in the company’s history.

  Live your potential, Emily. Reach for your dreams and then celebrate your joy when you achieve success. I’ll be watching you.

  Love,

  Grandpa Harry

  Greg spoke first. “I’m curious. Why’d he write these to Emily?”

  Laura tried to apologize. “They were best friends. I brought her to visit Harry every Friday. I’m sure if you had lived nearby he would have written letters to all the grandchildren.”

  “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not complaining, just curious.”

  “It’s beautiful advice for anyone. I just wonder, why now?” Michelle added.

  Laura answered. “I’m guessing, Michelle, it was Harry. For some reason he couldn’t tell you and Bob how he felt. I think this is his one last chance to let everyone know—that he did care.”

  “Still no combination. Any ideas now?”

  “Greg!” Michelle chided.

  “Just trying to get the job done that we came to do.”

  Laura checked her watch again. “You all keep working onit. I’ll go over to Subway and grab some sandwiches.” Bob agreed that was a great idea. He hadn’t had much for breakfast and he was starving.

  The Subway shop was just a few blocks away. She’d often dropped by with Emily on Fridays after visiting Harry. She didn’t know the help by name, but the two girls working today looked familiar. She placed her order with one and then watched as the other began to prepare the sandwiches. While Laura waited, her mind pondered the poems. There was one other poem that mentioned gold. Could that be the one? If Harry had wanted them to find the safe, wouldn’t he have told them where to find it?

  “That will be eighteen dollars and ninety cents.” Laura snapped out of her daydream and rummaged for a twentydollar bill from her purse. “Here you go,” she declared, handing the money to the young girl.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” The girl punched the cash register and retrieved the change. Like most cashiers, she stated the total and then counted the change backwards as she dropped it into Laura’s hand. “Eighteen ninety, nineteen, and a dollar makes twenty.”

  The words sounded familiar. “What did you say?”

  “I’m sorry, did I count that wrong?” She picked up the change from Laura’s hand and began to count again. Laura wasn’t watching. She was in another world. The girl recounted. “Your total was eighteen ninety. Your change is a dime, which makes nineteen, and then a dollar makes twenty. It’s correct.” Laura grinned. “You are a clever one, Harry,” she pronounced aloud as she handed the change back to the girl. “Here, thanks so much.”

  When she entered the house, Bob and Greg sat dejected, elbows on the table, staring blankly at the pages before them. Michelle was casually flipping through the poems, her attention and patience long gone.

  “I know something you don’t know,” Laura teased as she entered the room with the sandwiches.

  “What would that be?” Bob wondered, glancing up only briefly from the book.

  “I know the solution. The girl at the Sub shop helped me out.”

  Both Bob and Greg perked up, though Bob seemed confused. “The girl at the Sub shop knew Harry?”

  “I have no idea if she knew Harry, but she helped me figure it out.” They stared motionless as she continued, “There’s one other poem that mentions gold.” She picked up the book and began to search for a particular page. “Let’s see—yes, it’s poem eighteen. Anyone want to read it first?” she questioned. Greg was there and started immediately.

  We Must Change

  I watched with shock as Evening Newsshowed ravages of war;

  Of orphan child in distant lands,the plight of working poor.

  He told of crime increasing,of violent acts untold;

  Does no one care ’bout fellow men?

  Are all just seeking gold?

  Sickened at the baneful world,I walked the street alone;

  Is all faith lost, is hope now gone?

  Have men’s hearts turned to stone?

  The world must change for any hopeof better life someday;

  But millions here are hard and cold,pain seems our destined way.

  With heavy heart and downcast soul,I glanced across the road;

  A homeless man sat begging,lonely, weak, and cold.

  I usually cross to the other side,ignoring beggar’s plight;

  I know not why, I walked to him,“Please, may I help tonight?”

  With voice soft spoke, his eyes cast down,“Sir, can you spare some change?”

  His words they echoed deep within,I felt my heart beat strange.

  He asked for “change,” the simple word,struck deep with power and might;

  “Come walk with me, let’s get you fed,we’ll both get change tonight.”

  I walked with him to buy a meal,we sat and talked, two brothers;

  “I thank you sir, your act was kind,I will repay another.”

  Five twenty-five is all it cost,to feed that friend in need;

  I left a ten, said “Keep the change,”my answer strong indeed.

  That simple word, it starts inside,it echoes strong and clear;

  The world can change, it starts with us,those eyes there in the mirror.

  We change ourselves, then others seethe light within our soul;

  We set the first example;they will see the higher goal.

  The key then sounds so simple,it resonates so strange;

  It starts with us, then moves the world,the simple act of change.

  “Okay,” Bob chimed in, “the anticipation is killing me. How’d the girl at the Sub shop help you?”

  “I’d been reading the poem earlier. It was the way she counted the change. It just clicked.”

  Bob looked puzzled. Laura continued, “The poem is about change, right? Changing ourselves to make a better world. But in the poem he buys the man food for five twenty-five—he gives him a ten and tells him to keep the change. The whole poem is about change. I’ll bet if you take the change from the poem—four seventy-five, you’ll find your answer.”

  Greg’s jaw dropped open. Laura continued. “And the password is a number. Try four, seven, and then five.”

  Bob turned to Greg. “I’ll race you to the closet.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  Bob dialed in the numbers and grasped the handle firmly. Greg held the light. Bob paused, anticipating the moment, before giving the handle a jerk. It didn’t move.

  “Try it again.” Still nothing. They walked out and glared at Laura as if it were her fault. She simply shrugged.

  “Wait!” Bob shouted, tossing his hands into the air. “‘Four-seventy-five’ is the password to the letter. Why are we trying it on the safe?” He raced to the computer and opened the file.

  Dearest Emily,

  I want to talk to you about money.

  “I knew it,” Greg interjected. Bob continued. As I’m prone to do, let me start with a story. When I was a boy of about seven or eight, I found a stray dog one day on my way home from school. He was an abandoned mutt, but to a young boy, what a terrific mutt he was. I named him Chester and we b
ecame inseparable. I left him only to go to school. (I even tried to sneak him into class once, but the teacher called my parents. I received a good whipping when I got home and had to promise never to take him to school again.)

  One day I discovered a small sore under Chester’s right eye. As days passed, other sores started to appear under his hair and around his ears. I knew my dad would never spend money on a stray, so on my own I tried washing the sores every day with soap. The condition became worse. When I finally approached my father, I guess my desperation was evident; he never argued. He looked at me and then at the dog, and without even asking a question, he instructed me to get the dog and meet him in the car.

  We drove to town where the veterinarian lived. The doctor took one look at the sores and knew immediately whatwas wrong. He went to his cabinet and took out a box of pills—medicine that would cure my dog’s condition. He didn’t seem extremely concerned, but instructed me to give him one pill each morning and one each evening for the first three weeks and then one pill each morning for the following three weeks. He told me to bring the dog back in six weeks, if the condition didn’t clear up.

  I was thrilled. My dog was going to be okay. I gave him the first pill that very night, and then the second the next morning before school. In my haste to leave that morning, I left the box containing the pills on my desk, rather than putting it away inside the drawer. They must have been made to taste good, at least to dogs, because sometime during the day, Chester jumped up onto the desk, chewed open the package, and ate every one of the pills.

  I came home from school to find him asleep on the floor of my bedroom. He never woke up. The medicine that would have slowly made him better, taken all at once, took his life instead.

  I apologize for telling such a sad story, but the moral fits so many aspects of our lives, including money. Riches can be used to enrich and bless our lives just like the medicine, but if taken or used foolishly, the effects can be disastrous.

  Many people think that money is bad or evil. It isn’t. Others think that if they have a lot of it, they will be happy. They won’t. Still others believe that if they have more of it than people around them, they will be better. They aren’t. And yet, it’s a paradox, because we must eat. Money, used as a means of barter, helps us in that goal. It isn’t inherently good or bad, just part of the whole process of working for our sustenance.

  The difficult question then, Emily, is knowing how much is enough. If a man does nothing but stay home and playwith his children, soon those children will be hungry, because there will be no money to purchase food. If the same man works all the time to earn money to provide food, the children will not want for food, but will instead develop a greater hunger, the need for a father. The balance must plainly lie somewhere in between. Where is the balance for you? It is a question I cannot answer—only you can. My hope is to bring the dilemma to your attention—help you find the answer for yourself.

  I have two presents for you, Emily. Take the book of poems you are reading and untie the ribbon on the back inside cover. If you do, the cover will slide open and you will find a gold coin. This coin is for you. It represents the money and gold you will seek during your life. It is new, it is bright, and it is valuable. You may do with it what you choose.

  Your choices are many. You could keep it; if you do it may tarnish and fade, or it may become even more valuable. You could spend it, buying something to make your life easier or enjoyable. You could invest it wisely, perhaps increasing it a hundredfold. You could lose it and end up with nothing. You could give it to another in need to lighten his burden.

  As with the coin, your choices in life will be many— weigh them carefully; consider their consequences. Over the years, the thousands of choices you make, bundled together, will show what you value.

  Now, here is the most important part to remember— choice in life is not between wealth and poverty, nor is it between fame and obscurity. Choice in life is between good and evil. When you understand this lesson, material things will not determine your happiness. The great irony in life is that the world’s richest man and the world’s poorest manwill stand side by side in front of God with exactly the same amount.

  That said, I have much more for you than a single gold coin. My desire is to give you incredible riches. They are hidden in a safe in the floor of my closet. There you will find gold worth much more than just the coin hidden in the book. Consider what I have said and make your choices wisely.

  Love,

  Grandpa Harry

  I almost forgot to tell you the combination. Wouldn’t that have been funny? The combination is 1, 2, 3. Ridiculous I know, but it was the only way I could remember.

  “One, two, three?” Greg repeated in disbelief. They headed for the closet.

  This time as Bob dialed in the combination and jerked the handle, it turned with a clank. Greg wanted to high-five everyone but instead kept his composure. The lid was heavy but lifted back to stay open. Shining the light over Bob’s head, Greg could see three boxes inside wrapped in brown paper. Bob reached in and lifted them out with ease. A quick glance inside revealed that to be everything in the safe.

  “I hope it’s money, ’cause it isn’t heavy enough to be gold,” Bob announced. Greg tried not to look disappointed. Bob pushed the pile of shoes to the foot of the bed and placed the boxes in the center. They were wrapped like Christmas gifts but in plain brown paper. Bob stepped back to stare.

  “What are we waiting for?” Michelle questioned. She picked up one of the boxes and handed it to Laura. “We’ll do it together.” Laura smiled as they both began to unwrap the gifts. Under the paper was a cardboard box with the lid taped closed. Laura ran her nail over the tape to pop open the lid. Inside was gold indeed—an intricately carved gold picture frame held a photograph of a young couple. It took Laura a moment to recognize it as Harry and Kathryn. She had never seen the picture and it was mesmerizing. They both looked so young, and Harry so different from the man she had known. They were holding hands. She studied it closely. Kathryn beamed and indeed she was beautiful.

  “This is fantastic,” Laura announced. “Have you ever seen this picture?” Bob and Michelle both shook their heads. Michelle had opened her box and it held an identical frame and picture. She whispered, “Dad had very few pictures of Mom. I’ve never seen this one. It is incredible.”

  “Do you think Harry made the frames?” Laura wondered.

  “I doubt it,” Bob replied.

  But as Laura turned the picture over, the initials H. W. were carved into one corner.“Yes, look, his initials are on the back.”

  “But, there’s no gold?” Greg asked, unable to hide his dejection.

  “Don’t you see, Greg?” Laura responded. “There is gold— just like in the poem—it’s a different kind. Harry is trying to tell us that family and love are worth infinitely more than any gold coin.”

  Greg nodded, pretending to appreciate the analogy. “Wait!” he declared as his eyes brightened at a sudden thought.“Most safes have a false back or hidden drawer.” He grabbed a flashlight and headed to the closet to check.

  “Give it up, Greg. There isn’t any more gold,” Michelle responded.

  “Just give me a second,” he called from the closet. “Yes, there is a hidden back!” Pulling on a small fabric tab, the felt-covered back panel of the safe pulled out. Greg swung around, handed it to Bob and then headed again to the back of the closet. Reaching inside the small compartment, he removed two letters. He kept fishing, but that was everything the safe contained.

  He crawled from the closet looking dejected. “Two letters. That’s it.” He handed them to Bob, and turned back into the closet for one last look, just to be sure.

  “Can I see them, Bob?” Laura questioned, taking the first letter from him to examine it more closely. The envelope had yellowed and the paper was crisp; otherwise it was in perfect condition. It was addressed to Kathryn at an address in Denver. Sliding the letter from its envelope, she began
to read it aloud.

  My Dearest Kathryn,

  I pray this letter finds you in good spirits. I hope you arrived without incident. I also hope that my inability to write what I feel will not hinder you from seeing into my heart. I wish that I were skilled in writing, that with a few strokes of a pen I could portray the feelings that burn in my heart.

  My heart is about to break as I fear that I may have driven you away forever. I have been racked with such terrible torment since you left. I was so foolish in the things that I said. Sometimes I act so stupidly.

  I stared into the hallway mirror on the night that you left, but I did not recognize the pathetic man staring back. I cannot explain the things that I said, because there is no reasonable explanation. Instead, I hope you will realize they were not my words but rather those of a stranger.

  If you choose not to return, I will understand. Yourabsence will be of my own doing. But at the same time my existence will be utterly miserable without you by my side. I will shiver, for you are my warmth—I will be lonely, for you are my friend—I will be lost, for you are my guide. Everything good in me, no matter how small, you discover. I long to see your smile in the morning, to feel your touch in the evening.

  Please, Kathryn, return and grant me your forgiveness. I will be anxiously awaiting your reply.

  With all my love,

  Harry

  No one spoke as Laura finished. Even Greg sat quietly. Laura’s voice broke the silence. “This is the most beautiful letter I’ve ever read.”