Sunday December 4, 2005
	The letter.
	Dearest Norm: I'm listening to Charlie Brown's Christmas Time Is Here (on the motel room radio) and while I'm listening to it I started to think about you. I know it's been a long time since we dated one another and I know you're probably thinking that hearing from me right out of the blue like this is strange, but I thought I'd write and see if maybe you had any feelings left inside your body for me. Okay? I'm sorry if I sound a little desperate, Norman, but I'm feeling a little hollowed out and kinda alone.  It's not a passing thing, I'm pretty sure of that.  Maybe initially it was.  It's something much more.  Something a lot deeper and sometimes it feels dangerous and inescapable and terribly final.  This feeling has been dogging me for a long time. I'm kinda tired. I'm sorry. I haven't talked to you in years and I'm already unloading on you. Really sorry. I remember how much I always enjoyed talking to you, Norman.  Can I still talk to you.  Are you reading this? Please be reading this.  I looked you up on the internet and found that you live on an island in Florida.  I'm hoping it's a small island where everybody knows everybody and they know you and you get this letter (I couldn't find your address). Do you walk on beaches and drink margaritas?  I'll bet you go scuba diving and fishing a lot.  I can see you sitting on a chair at the beach smiling that smile of yours.  My father said you had a good smile; remember? Dad passed away Norman.  He always liked you.    Did you know that? I thought I'd be an important businesswoman by now and I'd be wearing a smart business suit and I'd have a leather briefcase and I'd be flying around in jets and between meetings I'd email my bosses using the latest laptop computer. Someday I'll get a computer and maybe I'll email you. I miss you, or at least I miss what you used to be to me.  Are you still single? I'm single but I've had a couple of suitors (one had a lot of money and the other is a classy older gentleman). I read an article that says you're a cult icon, wasn't Charles Manson a cult icon, too? When I knew you you had so much potential.  Maybe you should try harder to be the writer that you always wanted to be.  I can't see how there can be any real future in being a cult icon other than ending up in prison. I think about you often. Remember that time you sat with me at St. Joseph's Hospital in Minnesota while they operated on my mother. That was nice, Norman.   The way it's supposed to be. Mom passed away in '99. She liked you an awful lot. I'm working as a maid at a small motel just off US 20 in Cedar Falls, Iowa mostly because Maureen Dowd says she thinks that maybe being a maid might increase a gals chance with men. Please be reading this Norman. I'm writing this letter from one of those rooms.  When I started it was sunny outside but now the sun is setting.  Do you like the stationary.  They put it in the desk drawer for the guests to use.  Let me rewrite that: I put it in the desk drawers for guests to use. I'm pretty good at my job, Norman.  Who'd have thunk it? I'm tired.   I'm a little lost Norman and at one time I wouldn't have ever dreamed of saying something like that but I am (I wouldn't tell anyone else what I just told you so please don't laugh.  If I thought you were laughing I might just lay down and die right here in this unoccupied room.  In this business we say occupied or unoccupied a lot). I'm in the hospitality field. Hah! On the weekends I work at a strip club just outside of Cedar Falls.  (I'm recognizing my inner slut, Norman.  You'd have to be a follower of Maureen to know what I'm talking about). I know what you're thinking Norm:  She's this smart girl and she's dancing in a strip club and working as a maid? I'm as surprised as you are. Please be reading this. Gosh I'm so tired.  Have you ever been so tired that sleeping even ten hours doesn't seem to make you feel even a tiny bit fresher? Anyway, I thought I'd write and see if maybe you had any feelings left for me. Merry Christmas, Norman. Merry Christmas. Shelly Olive Street Cedar Falls, Iowa PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT