Sunday, June 29

Holiday Post

WE PULLED UP to our house and it was all very familiar again after our holiday; not quite a sad sight, but a relieving one. I smelled the smell of our road, after the streets of Spain it was warmer still. Rodger pulled our suitcases out of the boot and we walked them up the path to our front door. He rushed in, over a pile of letters. The house was cool familiar welcome. Roger went to the kitchen to do something without saying anything to me, leaving his suitcase by the cloakroom. I put my own aside, bent down and collected the post, the holiday post. Quickly I shuffled through them all.
Much of much.
One of them looked very interesting; its front was decorated in handwritten scrawl—‘To whom it may concern,’ not dated or stamped.
I sat down at the foot of the stairs and opened it. The letter was folded thrice on plain white A4 and its message was as follows:

‘To whom it may concern,
‘You don’t know me and I don’t know you but I have written this letter because I thought that it was polite and the least I could do. My first name is Susanna but I will not tell you my surname because it could get me into trouble. My boyfriend’s name is Patrick.
‘I am really sorry because two days ago my boyfriend and I broke into your house. We had some of this cider he brought along and got drunk and I was happy and all that and he’s a little older than me and he suggested we break into your house but I don’t think he knows you or anything.
‘We came in through your back door (I hope we didn’t damage it permanently). We went to your drinks cabinet and drank some of your alcohol. My boyfriend had some of your whiskey and I had some of your rum. They were tasty and painful and we got drunk.
‘In the end, we had sex. It was my first time and I think I am in love with him because when I look at him I cannot imagine not looking at him, if that makes sense. When I look at him, I feel very happy with things and all the things that make me worry aren’t there anymore. Because of that, I thought that it would be okay to have sex with him. Perhaps that sounds silly but I am only young so I am learning and to me it makes perfect sense.
‘It hurt. He told me that it would hurt and I said that I knew it would, but it still hurt. It was lovely. We did it in your bed, I think, because we couldn’t find anywhere else comfortable enough. I am sorry for having sex in your bed.
‘Afterwards he held me for a long, long time and I sniffed his sweat because I could smell nothing else but his sweat. We left through the same door.
‘This morning he came to my house and asked me if I wanted to break into your house to have sex again, but I didn’t want to because I already feel guilty for breaking in once before. He’s really very nice but he likes breaking into houses too much, I think. Instead we went to the park and carved our names on a tree because he had read about that in a book.
‘I am writing you this because I can’t tell anyone else. I want to tell everyone. I want to tell my best friend and my mum but I can’t find the courage, so I am sending this letter to you.
‘We are very young and we got carried away. I am sorry. I hope we haven’t caused any damage or upset you. Patrick is sitting next to me while I write this and he says I am silly for sending it to you, but after I drop this in the postbox, he says he’s going to buy me a slush puppy and then I expect we will go to the park and look at the river.
‘Your house is very special to me now. I cannot apologise enough to you if we’ve upset you or made you feel uncomfortable in your own home. I just wanted to tell someone all this and now I am telling you.
‘Yours faithfully,

I heard Rodger call me from the kitchen, from where the back-door opens to the garden. He called me very loudly with anger and disbelief in his cry. I folded the letter and put it deep within my pocket. Arising, I went to him.

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