Dear Aunt Myrna
Page 14
Just after school let out for the summer a new boy moved into the house two doors up from the Watson family. He had a little sister about a year younger than Janey and thankfully they played together for hours on end, leaving us older kids alone.
Harry was younger than me and older than Timmy. He was a small boy, not quite as tall as Timmy, and he spoke very, very softly. He was friendly without being overbearing, and I liked him immediately.
One morning I woke up with a start to the thunderous roar of machinery just outside my bedroom. I raced to my window and looked out. A large yellow tankish looking vehicle with a wide shovel on the front and treads instead of tires was backing up, then moving forward, scooping up huge chunks of the vacant lot. I ran to the kitchen.
Mama was sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee with Mrs Watson. They stopped talking while I breathlessly announced that we were being invaded by Cubans.
"It's just a new house is all, Sweetie," Mama assured me. "They've sold the two lots, and they're building new houses. I met the couple who bought the one next door to us this morning. Mr and Mrs Dodson. Nice retired couple."
"But where are we supposed to play?" I whined.
Mama didn't answer me, but stood and opened a cabinet door. She asked me what kind of cereal I'd like for breakfast. Mrs Watson said she had to go do another load of laundry and left. I was aghast at their shared nonchalance.
Danny, Timmy, Harry, and I sat on the hillside all day and watched the bulldozer load up the dump trucks. Timmy and I griped and lamented throughout most of the day, but Danny didn't say much, and Harry didn't either.
When Papa got home for supper that evening I complained to him about the new houses. He listened until I had no words left, and when he could get a word in edgewise he said, "It's called progress, Squirt-handle."
"I thought progress was supposed to be a good thing!" I protested.
"Depends on how you see it, I guess," Papa shrugged. "For you, it's destruction. For Mr and Mrs Dodson, I expect it's progress. And building new houses on the vacant lots will increase the property value for the whole neighborhood."
"Well," I snorted. "I don't value it and neither do the boys."
"Folks look at things differently, that's all," Papa said.
I wrote about my disappointment and outrage to Aunt Myrna that evening.
Dear Aunt Myrna,
Well, I suppose you've heard that they're destroying our lot next door. Idiots! There must be thousands of other places in the world for Mr and Mrs Dodson to build their house. Idiots!
Papa says it's progress. Do you think he's right?
Are you coming to visit us again this summer?
Love from your niece,
Katie Arlene Morgenstern
PS: I'm almost finished with Hilton's book. I hope Conway does not leave with Mallinson and Lo-Tsen. I will be very disappointed in him if he does.
The next week Aunt Myrna wrote back.
Dear Kate,
We each define progress by what we hold dear. I am sorry that you are losing something you hold dear. Perhaps you will enjoy Mr and Mrs Dodson's company, if not their lot.
Yes. I will be in Kentucky near the end of the summer. I am stopping by Indiana to visit your Uncle Clay and his family first, and will drive down to Louisville afterwards.
I love you, Kate.
Aunt Myrna
PS: As for Conway leaving Shangri-La - sometimes our heroes do disappoint us. It's okay if they chose paths separate from our own. It's okay to be angry with our heroes. Be sure to not throw the baby out with the bath water.
"What do babies and heroes and bath tubs have to do with one another?" I asked Mama, holding Aunt Myrna's letter in my hand.
She was sewing on a small patch on the back pocket of a pair of my blue jeans. She set the jeans aside and took the letter from me and began reading. When she finished the letter she looked at me and said, "It means you can still learn from Conway even if he winds up going back home, Sweetheart."
"But why would he leave some place that's so wonderful?"
"I don't know, Honey," Mama answered, her words slow and thoughtful. "People leave wonderful things trying to find better things all the time. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't."
"So does Conway leave, or does he stay?" I asked.
Mama smiled at me. "Read it for yourself," she instructed me. She handed the letter back to me and returned to her sewing.
Thankfully, it rained the next day. Otherwise I would not have found the time to finish reading the last chapter and the epilogue of Lost Horizon.
"He left after all!" I announced with a great huff at the supper table, even before Papa had a chance to tell us about his day.
"Who left?" Papa asked.
"Conway," Mama whispered to him.
"Who's Conway? Where'd he go?" Papa asked, but Mama and I both ignored him.
CHAPTER 15