August 10, 2005 - 8:58 p.m.
<Letter To Darren
>
Dear Sir Byron,
Forgive me for the fact that this letter is being typed. I dislike typing letters because I feel that a) they help me ramble, probably way past the recipient’s attention, and b) the recipient may feel that there was less love, or effort, put into it. But the truth is, I’m home for the week and the only paper in the house is computer paper. And I’d feel like a fool handwriting a note on computer paper. The only stationary I have here, is a box of cards my mom gave me this morning – but they are polka dotted and adorned with glittery purses - perhaps too girly for the likes of you.
Anyway, I’m home for the week, and as much as I was hoping it would be some kind of rejuvenating time, it’s turning out just to kind of be mediocre. I go to work every day in the authentic Car-part.com offices (not my table in my apartment!), and as silly as it might sound, I like doing that. It’s what I did every day for every summer that I can remember, and I kind of missed it. Of course, that’s not entirely the same. My cousin Paul goes to UC, so he’s on some stupid quarter system and he’s in school right now, so he’s not there. And, Car-part.com has really expanded in the last year, and there are so many people that I don’t know. Everyone last year knew who I was, and even those whom I didn’t talk with much, knew that I was the boss’s daughter. Not that I like the “status” of it, in fact that’s kind of annoying when the auto salvage workers censor themselves around me, and try to be sweet to me, just to get in good with my dad. But I don’t appreciate nosey secretaries trying to ask me who I am and what I’m doing. I miss having the freedom to go everywhere because everyone knew I was allowed.
What is the most irritating thing, however, is that I specifically called my mom to make sure that this week was going to be the best for everyone, for me to come home. I wanted to make sure my mom wasn’t working too much this week, that my dad wouldn’t be out of town, et cetera. But, of course, I learn far too late that my little brother and my mother are going to Alabama on Car-part.com business, and won’t be back until about the time that I’m leaving for Louisville on Saturday afternoon. I saw my mom for about a half hour last night after she got home from work. Now that’s it for the week – honestly, I was looking forward to getting coffee and watching movies with her. I was kind of even looking forward to having fights with her, because there were a few issues that I anticipated would come up the next time I saw her. I even rehearsed what I was going to say. But last night I found out that she’s going to be gone all while I’m here.
Today my dog and I took a walk in the woods. I don’t know if you even paid attention while you were here, but we’re in the middle of about 30 acres of woods, my family lives all along the perimeter and everyone owns a little hunk of it. When I was taking her a walk, for some reason I decided to go along this trail that no one ever really uses. Looking down a few hills, I’m amazed at all the ground my cousins and I never covered when we were little. Sure, when you’re little, a 30-acre forest is pretty humongous. I think every week we built a fort in a completely new location, and somehow we still didn’t cover it all. Of course, 30 acres is too small an area to suggest a hike. As much as I lament it, I realize that at our ages, “wanna play in the woods?” is not a viable invitation. But if I ask someone to take a walk with me, that implies less adventure than is necessary to explore all the caverns and trees in the hard to reach areas. So I’m not quite sure what to do – my dog would be the perfect companion for this endeavor, if she wasn’t so hard pressed to chase all the deer and rabbits and completely run away from me. It’s hard to jump through brush and weave in and out of trees when a leash connects you.
I still can’t believe that Ramsey is in Peru. First of all, I can’t believe it because I’d never go on vacation by myself. Any kind of fears set aside, I simply love being with my loved ones too much to abandon my whole world for a week. I’d need at least one friend to be with me. But it breaks my heart that I won’t see him for three weeks – I was gone a few days before he left, and I’ll be gone the weekend he gets back. And because he’s in Peru, and didn’t seem as excited as I did about the prospect of him sending me postcards, I feel like there will be zero contact with him. I don’t think I’m a high maintenance girlfriend. But I think it will be rough for me not to even know that he’s alive for three weeks.
So…Meat Loaf is coming up! I’ll call you next week sometime and we’ll figure it all out. I simply cannot wait. You don’t even understand. I’ll probably seduce him, so you should probably plan on spending the night alone. I’ll be busy givin’ it up to the love of my life. The only thing that could make this better would be that damned Meat Loaf corset. If I had known how hard I would work to find one later, I totally would have bid my life savings away that time I saw one on Ebay. I think I figured that if there was one in the world, and I stumbled upon it without trying, surely I could find another with minimal effort later when I had more money to spend. I was completely and utterly wrong.
I’m leaving for Louisville on Saturday afternoon. Not that there’s anything I really have to be back for, but I have to be honest that I’m not sure I want to go to church on Sunday. Isn’t that terrible? The thing is, Sundays used to be my absolute favorite. Many of the Schroders would go to church, take up a few pews, and afterwards to go my grandparents’ house where we’d all read the paper, eat lunch, talk, and spend time together way into the evening and often spilling over into supper. The kids my age would decide to go to a movie or something at night, and the whole day would be spent with the Schroders. But the thing is, it would start with church. Church was always fine enough, you go for an hour, half-listen to the homily, hear some songs and people watch. I tried to pay attention, and sometimes I did, but really it was more of a habit. But then I started going to St. Martin’s with you – and it has only been a few months, but you don’t know how happy I am that we’ve been doing that. I can’t daydream at that mass if I try. I hang on every word, and that one terrible night when we missed that mass and had to go to whatever mass it was at that church by your house – it so disappointed me. I couldn’t even fathom that I used to do that every week, just a few months before. Going to church has actually started to mean something to me, which I couldn’t always say before. I thought that it meant something, until I started going to the Latin Mass and realized that it meant so much more. I think that, at home, without my family being there, and it being the customary start to a marvelous day, I simply wouldn’t go. There wasn’t enough there to keep me – no meat to the service. And while I’d be sad if I missed mass at St. Martin’s this Sunday, the truth is, I’m afraid of going to the English mass again. I’m afraid of being disappointed and appalled again. I can’t believe the difference. I kind of just don’t want to confront myself with having to acknowledge how much that mass disappoints me.
I hope you’re having a great time with your first week of med school – probably your most fun week you’ll have because you’re pretty much guaranteed not to have an exam or something huge due in the first few days. But then again, I also wouldn’t have thought that you’d cut up a dead guy on your first day. So what do I know of med school?
Love Love Love Love Love,
Kelly
P.S. I heartily apologize for the utter un-funness of the stamp with which I’m sure to stamp my letter. (that was an awkward sentence…but every other way I phrased it, there was a preposition at the end…and that bothered me. I’m not sure I always spot prepositions at the end of sentences, but when I do, I hate it.) I thoroughly enjoy using exciting stamps as the final flourish when I write a letter, but my family does not share my passion, so when I’m at home my letter flourish options are limited. Believe me – between the typed body and the plain envelope and stamp – this is probably, by far, the most boring letter you’ll ever receive from me. So watch out for what’s ahead.
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