Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: MAIL (02/18/16)
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TITLE: The Letter Box | Previous Challenge Entry
By LeslieJean Anderson
02/24/16 -
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“Jerry! Stop! He didn’t mean it! Please don’t go – not like this!”
Jerry slammed the truck into reverse, backing down the long driveway before his mother could get any closer. She’d want everyone to talk it over. Force them to make up. But there was no making up now.
There was no going back either. He was done. On his own. He’d check on his mother later, but he’d never understand how she could stay with him. Or how they could even be in the same family.
Jerry knew what to do with his anger. There was a war on. That’s what the argument had been about. He’d take his anger to the enemy. It would feel good to unleash it on them. The enemies of America. He’d be an American hero, and then his father could never call him worthless again.
So Jerry signed up. He excelled in training. He learned martial arts. He also became an expert marksman and was promoted. He went overseas and faced the enemy, carrying out successful missions every month. But the enemy carried even more anger than he did. He was wounded in a surprise attack and lost his lower leg. He was sent back to the States to recover.
When he was better, his buddy Jim agreed to drive him to the family home to see his mother. Jerry hadn’t contacted her since the day he’d left. Oh, he’d wanted to. But he was haunted by the image of his father towering over her. Towering over him, scowling. He’d tried to call, but then he’d hung up. He’d started letters, but never finished them. He’d written cards and never mailed them. But he was not afraid anymore. He was a soldier now, with a chest full of medals and a purple heart.
Jerry and his buddy were both wearing their uniforms when they pulled up to the house. It had only been six years, but things had changed. With his friend steadying him, Jerry maneuvered his crutches around trash, past an unfamiliar car and up the crumbling front porch stairs. He rang the doorbell. A stranger came to the door. A black woman in a smock.
She looked them up and down and said, “You here for Miz Amanda? One moment. What’s your name?”
A few seconds later, she came rushing back to the door and let them in. Jerry’s mother was sitting in a recliner, a walker parked nearby. She raised her arms towards him, and he gently kissed her cheek, wet with silent happy tears.
They stayed for a long time. The caretaker fixed dinner while they talked. Jerry’s father had passed away the year before, and his mother had fallen and broken her hip.
Before they left, she pointed to a large box by the fireplace. “Jim, please give that box to Jerry so he can take it with him.”
Turning to Jerry she said, “It contains five years of letters and cards from your father and me. Every day we prayed for your safety and health, wherever you were.“
With a twinge of guilt, Jerry accepted the box from Jim. His mother continued, “We hoped we’d get some kind of mail from you so we knew where to send them. Your father wrote even more letters than I did because he felt responsible for your leaving. Since he couldn’t talk to you and apologize, he wrote.”
Jerry dug through the box of letters. There were at least two hundred envelopes, all neatly bound with twine.
His mother put her hand on his arm. “He’d have been so proud of what you’ve accomplished. When he found out he was sick, he talked about seeing you in Heaven. He spoke harshly sometimes, I know. But he loved you. His last words to me were, “Tell Jerry I’m sorry.”
679 words This is a work of fiction.
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I love reconciliation stories because I know from experience they are possible, even after a family member has passed away.