A Different Letter

Going to shift gears a bit. Instead of posting something personal, or about someone close to me, I'm going to post an old short story I wrote back in the late 1980s (or early 90s). I think it may have been written shortly after getting my fateful letter. Maybe there was inspiration there. I don't know. This story was taken from a picture provided. It was a writing assignment for a correspondence course. This verison is NOT the original. That may be lost. The copy this is from has a host of red marks on it, despite encouraging words.

The story is a break from my normal fantasy subjects. Basically, it is a story about how hard (and emotional) it is to be a teenager. Everything is either best or worst. It's love or hate. There is no room for anything else.

Letter of Conscience

by Bevie James

Trenton’s brow wrinkled as he studied the letter Chenea had just given him. All of this rambling about how he had treated her when she first came to school. What was she leading up to? Was she aware of the rude things he had been saying about her?

And then he froze. Surely she didn’t mean it. It was a joke. It wasn’t true.

Slowly, sheepishly, he turned his head to look at her.

Chenea met his gaze with her own. Her face was sad and hopeful. Almost pleading. No, it was true all right. Trenton had never felt like such a heel before.

“I do like you. A lot,” she said.

Trenton opened his mouth but found no words. He broke his gaze with her and tried to focus on the letter.

“I suppose you’re surprised,” she said. “I don’t blame you if you are. I know all the kids think I’m stuck up.”

He looked at her and she smiled painfully. “I’ve heard them talk. And some aren’t afraid to tell me to my face. But I really don’t think I’m better than them. I don’t think I’m better than anybody. I know I’m not.

“Anyway, it’s all right that they don’t like me. I think it’s best people don’t get too close to each other. Otherwise it hurts too bad when you leave. Don’t you think?”

Trenton bit his lip, and he could feel his eyes watering. He didn’t dare look at her. He took a deep breath and looked up into the sky, using the sun as an excuse to wipe his eyes.

“I guess that’s why I’m not all that excited about going back to live with my parents,” she said. “By summertime they’ll split up again and I’ll go live with another relative until they get back together. But it’s not their fault. That’s just the way people are.”

Trenton looked at her. He wished his aunt’s bus would get in so he’d have an excuse to leave.

“It’s like when I came here two months ago,” she said. “No one really wanted to be my friend. But I understood. They’ve got their own lives. I didn’t expect anyone to be nice to me. But you were.”

Trenton hung his head. Yes, at first he had tried to be nice. Seeing how the other kids ignored or picked on her, he had tried to be nice. And, to be honest, he was attracted to her.

But she never said anything besides a quiet “thank you.” And after a while he got tired of putting up with the jokes about Chenea and him. That’s when he stopped helping her and began badmouthing her.

“I remember you stood up to those boys,” she said. “That was very nice of you. You didn’t have to do that.

“That was the biggest thing you did. But you did other things. You showed me how to find my way around school. And when I lost my money in the pop machine you bought one for me. You were just nice. And you didn’t have to be. I guess that’s why I like you.”

Chenea’s father called from the bus where he stood talking with the driver. It was time for them to go.

Chenae looked at her father and then quickly back to Trenton.

“I know you can’t really like me,” she said. “You were being nice before because that’s how you are. But I wanted to tell you before I left. That’s why I wrote the letter. I was going to give it to you in school yesterday. But I was afraid. But seeing you here today I just had to.”

She started fumbling with her two oversized bags, no longer looking at him. How pretty she was, Trenton thought. And frail. Despite the things he had said about her, he was still attracted to her.

He reached down and took both of her bags and brought them to the bus where her father and the driver loaded them. Chenae turned and gave Trenton one last look.

“I – I,” she faltered. “I think I love you, Trenton.”

And then she ran onto the bus.

Trenton watched her make her way to a seat. It was a window seat on his side. But she wasn’t looking at him.

The driver started the bus and closed the door. On an impulse, Trenton ran over to below where Chenea sat and began knocking on the window. As she opened it, her father and other passengers turned to see what was happening.

“Chenea, you’re wrong about yourself,” Trenton said. “You’re very special and very pretty. And you’re better than most of the kids I know.”

She stared at him and the bus began to move. As it pulled away she stuck her head out the window to keep looking at him.

“Chenea! Chenea, I love you!” he shouted.

The last thing he saw of her was her smiling face, and he found himself cruelly hoping her parents would split up again. Then maybe, just maybe she would come back.