Rahab makes an appearance
To my Darling Hosea,
I don’t exactly know why I’m writing this now. I guess I just wanted to talk to you, but you’re far away and we can’t talk, so I write. I should have written long ago.
Do you remember your first fashion show? I do. You were six. I think you were in love with a little girl named Andrea at the time. Or was it Chelsea? Maybe you were in love with both of them. You were young and innocent, if such a term can be applied, and didn’t yet know that little boys are only supposed to love one girl at a time.
Were you afraid of Chelsea? I dreamt of you last night, shaking hands with the fawning ladies at the end of the show as they walked out into the chilly winter night. You kept glancing up at Andrea – Chelsea wasn’t there – trying look as though you were trying to make your glances self-conscious and unintentional, as though you knew they would have a greater effect that way. You were adorable in your pin-striped suit. A big gentleman in disguise.
Remember the sticker fiasco? You used to chase Andrea around the Sunday school classroom trying to kiss her on the neck. Your teacher thought you were such a tyrant. You were, but it wasn’t all your fault. Andrea and Chelsea goaded you on. They ran and screamed for help when you set after them, but the moment you stopped they began batting girlish eyelashes in your direction. Even Chelsea’s older sister thought you were adorable.
You never tried to kiss Chelsea though. It was always Andrea. I’m convinced you were afraid of her. I think I know why. She was unattainable. Or maybe you didn’t want to know if you could attain her or not. What a frightening thought for your tiny, vain male heart. You kissed Andrea because you couldn’t kiss Chelsea. Am I wrong, dearest?
I’ve begun journaling again. Writing all these things down. I guess a journal is supposed to be about oneself, but mine is all about you. I can’t help but adore you, flawed as I know you are. You’re still my charming prince. You may even be my prince charming.
Oh yes. The stickers. They were your brothers, and your mother was furious. It was Friday, with the weekend fast approaching, and you got it into your head to make Andrea a gift. I suspect you’ve been a romantic since you were conceived in the womb. Perhaps even since you were a mere twinkle in your father’s eye. You had already used up your stickers, but you reasoned that such a noble cause as love demanded a little sacrifice. When you ran to your mother with your recently completed card proudly on display, she made her deductions faster than Sherlock Holmes. It probably didn’t help that Isaac was already crying about his missing stickers in the living room.
Here you were, heart and mind ennobled, blinded by love, spirit soaring on your selfless pride, and instead of receiving the loving affirmation of righteous expectancy, you received an earful of raging protective motherhood. She was hurt because her children were hurt. How could she see what this meant to you? She was not wrong.
I do not say that you were wrong either. Only…I don’t wish to comment on these things. I only recall them.
She made you buy your brothers new stickers. She made you cry for vindication. The whole experience, the card and all, was bitter after that, and even when you handed it shyly to your beloved, you felt the shame pulsing through your veins from head to toe. Shame was pulsing from your very heart. Andrea’s mother was delighted. She knew the backstory, and she was flattered for her daughter’s sake. Mothers will be mothers.
Darling, I would embrace you if I could. As these memories passed through me, you bit your nails and curled up on my hearth (a hearth I don’t have in this place – however much I wish for one). I took you into my arms and rocked you to sleep, darling. I did. How sweet you looked in the glow of the firelight. I long to see your face again. Until then, I am
Yours only,
Rahab.
njero said,
Nov 23, 19:07 #
I look forward to reading the edited version. Otherwise, intriguing.
Tristan said,
Nov 24, 01:27 #
I edited it a bit, but there didn’t seem to be a whole lot that needed changing. Did you notice anything in particular?
njero said,
Nov 24, 15:03 #
There were some annoying spelling problems. I think they were largely of the plural/possessive type. Mostly I was just teasing.
Hector Garcia III said,
Nov 27, 20:40 #
its a fucking letter for god’s sakes!!! its allowed to have spelling mistakes. if anything they make the letter more believable as part of a greater story!
Tristan said,
Nov 27, 22:22 #
That’s a good point, Mr. Garcia.
Um. Who the hell are you?
Hector Garcia III said,
Nov 28, 12:13 #
sir i am taken aback by your language.
Hector Garcia III said,
Nov 28, 18:49 #
nevermind ‘Sir.’ turns out I was offended by my own language (message 4). i must cut down on the algebra late at night.
Hector Garcia III said,
Nov 28, 19:34 #
by the way Tristan, its Mr. Garcia III, not mr. garcia. if mr garcia were alive he would be 185, but he is not and only i, his grandson remains.
Hector Garcia I said,
Nov 28, 20:45 #
hardly dead you ungrateful bastard, im 186!
Tristan said,
Nov 28, 22:15 #
Ah, the elder Mr. Garcia! Pleased to make your acquaintance.
kellywilson said,
Nov 29, 06:27 #
Jesus, Joseph and Rahab! All we need is Julio Iglesias to drop by.
Julio Iglesias said,
Nov 29, 17:41 #
if this narcissistic literary crap was but a portion as intriguing as my ingenious lyrical works then i might have made a more timely appearance, but to even note this work of depravity with a comment musters it more recognition than it otherwise merits. however, with the mention of my name paralleled with Jesus’ by this seemingly astute character ‘kellywilson’, it thereby justified a response.
Justin K. said,
Nov 29, 20:27 #
Why am I intrigued by this writing.
I must get out more, in this wide world. (Sigh) T, not bad. I mean, disregard what I critique, but I enjoyed the writing, seeing that it came from a friend… So, are you a romantic?Tristan said,
Nov 30, 05:00 #
Why are you intrigued? Isn’t it obvious?! It’s only the most brilliant fictitious letter penned since Salinger’s “Hapworth 16, 1954”.
Critique’s however, (and compliments) are always welcome.
Tristan said,
Nov 30, 05:09 #
Iglesias, you are a disgrace to your father’s name.
kjnwilson said,
Nov 30, 06:29 #
Tristan are you just making a general Spanish insult, or confusing Julio with Enrique? Enrique is the son of Julio, and some would argue, a disgrace to his father’s name…
Tristan said,
Nov 30, 19:20 #
No, my insult was accurate. Enrique is Julio’s son, and Julio is Dr. Julio Iglesias Puga’s son. The elder Julio is now dead, but he was a respected gynaecologist, and one of the first in Spain. You can read his NYT obit here.