7/28/11

The Final Letter
By Gil C. Schmidt


Dear Rebecca,


I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I know these words sound trite, but they are true, as true as anything I have ever told you.


Time and time again I have tried to write this letter, to ask you to forgive me, and I end up so angry at myself for not finding the right words that I rip up the paper and start again. So I won’t try to find more words than necessary: Please forgive me. If you can, please do it whenever your heart tells you to. I can wait because I’d rather let you heal than force some empty arrangement to salve my conscience.


Whenever you wish to see me, or speak to me, you know where to find me. I love you, please believe that I do. I don’t ever want to lose you, but I know I must wait. I will. And I hope that someday we can be together again, for the rest of our lives. Love, Andy.



Marcia looked up from the letter, her eyes bright. “Wow. He seems to be feeling pretty strongly about this.”

Rebecca brought her eyes back from the street scene outside the tiny Deluxe Cup café, the passersby clutching coats tightly against the harsh wind, cars fluffing white contrails in the dry frigid air. “He seems to be. Yes.”

“You’re not sure?”

Rebecca glanced at her mug of chai, the spicy aroma now faint. “Are you?”

Marcia blinked twice, very fast. “You’re asking me?”

A long look at the street, taking in the sudden plunge into darkness as the clouds swallowed up what little cheer was left in the day. She looked back at Marcia. “Yes.”

Marcia’s hands fluttered, the letter waving up and down and around. “I don’t know.” She read it again quickly. “I think he is.”

Rebecca nodded, her mouth a tight line. “Do you hope he is?” She sipped from her mug, the chai tepid and flat.

More fluttering, eyes darting from table to letter to cups to street and back to the table. “Well, yeah, I do hope he’s honest here.” A few seconds later. ‘For your sake.”

A grunt, an ugly harsh grunt was Rebecca’s only response. Marcia stared at her friend until Rebecca’s eyes met hers, then she looked away. “Andy’s boss called me today to tell me he’d requested a transfer to San Diego.”

Marcia turned her head slowly. “San Diego? That’s what you wanted, right?”

Rebecca shrugged. “Andy never liked it there.”

“He’s trying--he’s trying to get you back.”

‘’Get me back’?” The words were clipped.

“Uh, yes, of course. He’s saying he wants to be with you, wherever you want to be.”

Rebecca drained her mug and set it down softly. A car slipped and slid on the icy street, narrowly avoiding a FedEx truck and a pedestrian. “And you want what I want, right?”

Marcia was taken aback. “Becky! Of course I do! What are best friends for?”

Rebecca took the letter from Marcia’s hand, folded it neatly and tucked it into her purse. “Best friends… Marcia, best friends share everything, that’s true.” She slapped Marcia so hard that her head thudded off the wall, the cheek blushing crimson immediately.

“Except husbands.” And Rebecca walked away, her mind on San Diego. And solitude.


- - -
His recent marriage has given Gil two powerful insights: he is very much a happily-married man and the reboot of "Star Trek" was handled with deftness. Okay, maybe the second one does not qualify as "powerful."