by Genevieve Mather

 

Dear me,

 

YOU'RE A FREAKING GENIOUS, MAKE YOUR PARENTS REALIZE IT BEFORE YOU REACH THE THRD FRADE OR IT'LL BE TOO LATE TO BE ON TV AND GET RICH!

 

I know you don't speak English by now, but, please, find someone who does to translate it for you. Teacher Janet does, ask her. I mean it, seriously.

 

Love,

You

 

P.S. When you grow up, play more WoW. Life gets boring.

 

 

       I fold the paper ever so delicately, making sure the corners match up with the perfectly pearly sides. As soon as the straightness of the folded paper proves satisfactory, I insert it into the envelope. I decided to send a letter to myself after I read an article on how writing down what you might be feeling can be therapeutic.

      “-Girls had two butts.” Interjected Montague, with what could be a thoughtful look on his face.

 “Wha?!” I replied.

 “What?” He looked at me dead in the eye, as if his meaning was the most obvious thing in the world.

    I allowed a few moments of silence to pass between us. Awkwardly, I twisted the envelope in my hand.    

    He gave me another pointed look and sighed, “Okay, I’ll break it down for you. Fat people have two butts. Most are fat because they gobble down so much fast food. While they are at McDonalds, they do a lot of ordering right? Just like Julie right?  With me so far?”

   “You mean the Julie who went missing?”

“Don’t you see how it all comes together? She must have been really, particular about her order.  And you know how mean she gets. I bet her double butted self did some frantic yelling and complaining.”

   I replied with a blank stare.

   He took this as a sign to continue.  “Look, all I am saying is that people need to watch out for Ronald McDonald. If you cross him, he may realize how worthless his life is and kill you out of spite.” 

   “Okay. Montague. You need to calm down.  I’ve been your friend for what, five years now?”

    “Yeah we are the best of pals, huh?” If he were a dog, I’d bet my life that he’d be wagging a tail about now.

    “Maybe its about time, you kind of, I don’t know, got a life?” Secretly, I knew I was being the most hypocritical chap since Hitler, but that didn’t stop me. I figured it was about time to help guide my good friend away from making rude statements constantly and offending those around him. “It would actually be worth the money if you ever get a life and go visit foreign places.”

   I heard a rather audible snort come from him. Nevertheless, I persisted, “Seriously, just book yourself a nice guided tour and have some fun.”

     “Ah, my poor, poor friend. How misguided can you be?”

       “Uhh? No the point is that you should get a guide.” Oh wait, he meant misguided. Not lack of a guide. Too late, I already made myself sound stupid.

     He didn’t seem to notice this because he continued,  “Guided tours are for fat families and pensioners on the brink of death. Seriously, who goes on those things and says ‘Why, I have now experienced a foreign land! My cultural horizons have been broadened!’ after spending an hour and a half being chirped at by some cheerleader who never made it and ended up past her prime, single, and working a dead-end low-skill job to pay for her one bedroom apartment, D-cell batteries, and cat food?”

     Well that backfired.

     “Mmkay, well I better get this to the post office. So I’ll see you around I guess.”

     “Wait! Let me come with you. I’ll be good and we will have all kinds of fun and...”

      “Its very nice of you to offer, but I think this is just a once man journey…. so taa~”

      “But what if you get lost and taken off the street by a gang of pedophiles and they rape you over and over again and beat you and take all your money? And then you have to resort to selling your body on the street to raise money for your crack-addicted baby? What then? Please let me come with you, Gregg. I’ll protect you from the bad guys and everything!”

      “Um… okay?”

        I wondered if most friends had to deal with this type of thing as I walked along the sidewalk with Montague skipping by my side.

        As we ambled down the sidewalk, Montague took it upon himself to make this into a ‘super special secret mission’ and asked, “Come on, please let me hold the treasure? Someone needs to keep it safe from the slugs.”

     “Its fine. Look,” I presented to him the envelope. “No burn marks, no scratches, it is as safe as a letter can be.”

     “Ah, but slugs can’t scratch or burn things. They lack both flamethrowers and claws, idiot. What you should be looking for is the slimies… and look!” He pointed dramatically at the letter.
    “What?” I inquired. My foot hit an elevated, cracked part of the concrete causing me to momentarily lose my composure.

     “Slimies! They are right there, I see them! I told you it wasn’t safe, they’ve already made their mark. Quick, give it to me!”

     “Monts. First of all, letters can get slimies on them when you lick the stamp, so the area around it can get slightly wet. Slugs? No.”

    Montague tried not to look too depressed about this.

     Suddenly, a balding man leaped over the wooden fence we were walking past and stood on our path. It was kind of annoying because he wouldn’t move out of our way.

    “Go back home, dad.” I said absentmindedly.

     “I just wanted to check up on you kids, is all.”

      “We are fine. We’re going to the post office.”

      “But why?”

       “Because I need to send this letter to myself”

       “What? Oh nevermind, I suppose. Why would you go to the post office when we have a mail box right in our driveway, son?”

     “Uh-“ I began clumsily.

Montague interjected,“HI. I'M GEORGE ZIMMER - FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. AND I WANT TO BEND YOU OVER A PING-PONG TABLE AND FORCE YOU TO READ HARPER'S BIZAAR WHILE I VIOLATE A SERIES OF YOUR ORAFICES. I'LL COUNT EACH PLUNGE OF MY INVADER IN GREEK. I GUARANTEE IT.”

     “Oh. O-okay well I’ll be going now.” And with that, my father wandered off into the setting sun.

     We continued walking. “Sorry about that, I was nervous and stuff…”

    I tried to comfort him. “Its alright, at least you got him to go away.” This triggered him to hug me excitedly. I attempted to push him off of me, but my flimsy little arms didn’t really do much except flail.

    “You really are the best friend ever!” He broke the hug and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

   “Hey! I think we are almost there! Look there it is!” I changed the subject.

    “Really?”

     “Just kidding.”

       “Aw...”

      “….But really, we are almost there!”

        His goofy grin came back.

      “Nevermind.”

   “Stop that!” He stomped his feet angrily.

   “Okay.” I walked up to the post office and put the letter in one of the big, blue box things. Satisfied, I clapped my hands together.

    “Did we do it?

      “We did it!… Ack!!! I think I forgot to write the address on it.”

      “Don’t worry Gregg! I’m sure it will reach him somehow... somewhere… and when he does you can look up at the vast sky and wonder if he is thinking of you too.”

     “What?” I questioned.

      “What?” He repeated.

     I let it go. All I know is that we accomplished something today, or something of the sort. We both looked at each other and jumped into the air and froze as a circle engulfed us making the screen go black.