Letter To You, From Me
WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY
Claire A McCulloch
To Mom, From Me
Published by Squid Press Canada As part of an author workshop facilitated by Lesley Kelz SP_TNTW0003 Copyright 2011 Claire A. McCulloch ISBN: 978-1-926887-10-4 All rights reserved. This work cannot be reproduced or copied in whole or in part.
Printed in Canada
Letter To You, From Me WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY Claire A. McCulloch
“They’re just arguing... it-it’s alright.” My brother, Kyle, assures me. I don’t believe him and something tells me that he doesn’t believe himself either. How could you not know that this was a fight? It was definitely not an alright argument. The only way yelling was alright is if you’re both happy and smiling, but even though I can’t see my parents I know that they are not smiling. My brother and I hover on the stairs, but we don’t need to be silent to hear the front door slam. That’s when we both creep back to fulfill a sleepless night.
Mom is gone the next morning. We eat our breakfast in a pit of silence that I’m just dying to get out of. But the place that I’d go after I escaped the pit would have to include one thing... Mom.
I wait in silence as the old Mazda pulls into our driveway. Our old Mazda car. I almost jump out of the bush I’m hiding in (instead of in school) but I manage to restrain myself. I watch as Mom gets out of the car and into the house. I want to follow her but something stops me, and I wait until she comes back out an hour later with most of her stuff. She wasn’t coming back... I watch from the bush as our old Mazda vehicle drives out of my vision.
Spring goes and summer comes, and soon goes. But when autumn enters our lives Mom still isn’t home.
Dad is more like a drill sergeant instead of father to Kyle and I. He usually comes home from work, makes dinner, we eat silently, he sulks to his room and we soon hear the TV full blast. A few days ago I found some divorce letters sent from mom on his desk; unopened. The next ones that came were found in his garbage can along with about four broken and empty wine bottles.
Tonight I asked the question everyone was wondering “Where was Mom.� And he got all defensive on me. I wanted him to yell at me louder so I could do the same.
I wanted to scream at him until he hit me and then was too baffled about it to apologize. You know that things are bad when you want someone to suffer for you.
My brother chased me outside just as I was about to leave our lot. “Your going to do the same thing that Mom did? Walk out on us, just like Mom did?” He calls and I stop walking abruptly. “Where are you going to go any ways?” He’s right, where was I going to go? I allow him to walk me inside but when we pass my father’s study cigarette smoke wafts through my nose and I gag. I flood my pillow with tears that night.
Fall goes, and winter comes, only to be demolished by spring that came a little too early this year. It’s been a year since Mom left and we still mope around. My family and I hardly talk to each other so my father sent me to this psychologist to set things straight for me who’s ‘taken the change hardest’.
“Jess?” Dr. Murphy, the psychologist, asks one day. “I want you to write a letter to your mother, metaphorically of course.” I nod. “Just write about all your feelings you’ve had and the changes you’ve gone through.” I nod even though he’d have to pay me to write this letter instead of us paying him to tell me too. No way will I write some metaphorical letter to my mother.
Spring goes and summer finally comes forcing school to end. I should be prancing through sprinklers and eating popsicles until I either vomit or get a massive brainfreeze.
We don’t, me and my family mope all summer.
But when Kyle and my father are yelling at each other like him and mom had I rush to my room before they see my crying. I grab a pencil and paper before I know what I’m doing and just write how I felt. The letter I promised myself I wasn’t going to write, had begun.
Summer leaves us and soon autumn is here. “Do you have the letter I asked you to bring last time?” Dr. Murphy asks in our session this Tuesday. I nod and reluctantly hand him my letter that I had never thought would get so big (it’s at least seven pages). He asks me to follow him and I’m lead down a narrow hallway and down a flight of stairs to the ground floor of the plaza. I’m walking out the front doors when I stop and feel the rain pitter-patter down my back. It’s her... I run as fast as my legs will move to try and get across the parking lot quickly. The blood is pounding in my ears so loud that I don’t even hear the screamed warnings and the squeals of car tires against the asphalt.
The lights are too bright in my eyes so I try to shield them but it hurts to move. Ow... it hurts to think. I experiment rolling over but my whole body gets shot with an electric pain sliding through my limbs. “Jess?” Comes a voice. I open my eyes slightly and see a figure standing above the bed. I know who it is instantly and I sit bolt right up in bed trying to ignore the pain. My mother’s arms fold around me and when I whimper slightly from the pain it brings me, she doesn’t let go. She just softens the squeeze.
Winter comes and goes melting away into spring. It marks this day of being exactly two years since my mother left, and making me fully recovered from when the car smashed into my side.
Apparently the man I thought was completely worthless actually rose to the occasion this time. When Dr. Murphy gave me the letter assignment we knew what he had wanted to do. In the time that he never once asked about the letter he was looking for my mother. He found her and now here she is, with us. With her broken daughter and heart broken son, she’s here. But has also made it perfectly clear that she does not wish to continue the marriage between her and my father.
But on my Mother’s birthday this year I gave her the letter. I had wanted to wait for the perfect moment to give it to her so I waited. She read each page of the letter, and she even cried a few times. When she was done reading it she hugged me silently for a long time. “I missed you so much Jess.” She breathes into my hair. “Your letter... it was amazing.” I hug her tighter trying to remember exactly what I wrote in the letter to my mother.
But the only thing that I can remember is the ending...
You, From Me.’
‘To
Dear Reader, Thank you for taking the time to read this short story. I hope you enjoyed it because I really enjoyed creating it! From,
Claire. A. McCulloch
About this Book Jess doesn’t know where her mother is, or when she’ll come back (or if she’ll come back). With her mixed emotions she is encouraged to write a letter to her mother by the psychologist, Dr. Murphy. She pours her heart into the letter completely unaware of Dr. Murphy’s intentions for the letter and for her and her mother’s relationship.
About the Author Claire A. McCulloch lives with her family in Brooklin ON. At the age of twelve (born June 10, 1998) this is her second published book. Besides writing, Claire loves to read and create art projects such as the illustrations inside this short story. Testimonials I loved your book. —Carson Great Book! It was both sad and happy at the same time. —Lydia
ISBN 978-1-926887-10-4
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