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TITLE: The Letter
AUTHOR: Vega Ikari Don't care just drop me a line first
NOTES: Let me explain myself. Someone brought up this idea on the list (please email me so you get credit) I think it was challenge, but it got stuck in my head like sand so here's my pearl (still more like sand) I just kind of turned into letter form. This is my first fic ever, so please be kind. I not sure the consistency is great either.(I can think of about a billion reasons this would work but hey it's my universe) My spelling and grammar are so bad that I'm being tutor even though I'm an A student, you've been warned. So if you still feel up to it, please, please, read.
Feedback: I love it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, these characters are own by big corporations, Fox and 1013 to name, and I the poor, poor, did I mention poor student does not own anything except for the characters Emily and Jake. Rock on.
Dear Yves,
Not many people know me well. Hell, I live with two other men who know little to nothing of my past. I'm not complaining; I know just about as much about them. I can make guesses of course. Scars on Langly's thin back tell me about his past relationship with a belt and the man who wielded it. Of course this is only backed up by his insistence that he grew-up in hell. Byers is polite, level-headed, and still idealistic after all these years. It speaks of the drive his family instilled into him at an early age. Jimmy, well Jimmy, probably didn't know the meaning of pain or disappointment till he met us. I can't imagine anyone being like him that has suffered too much during their life. I can say that I know that I pain. What I say about the others I am sure to be true, but no matter what the others think they know about me, they would never guess this. I'm not sure why I never told them. It sounds stupid, but it never really came up. I need to tell you, however; you have a right to know. I know this doesn't make sense to you now but please bear with me.
She was like a hurricane in my life. Langly would complain that our daughter has the same on us effect today, but he never met her mother. It was my first year, second semester of college. It was nearing the end of the sixty's. Free love and drugs ran rapad. I for the most part had managed to avoid it. I was a straight A student who spent his Saturday nights studying. I read somewhere that the road in front of you slips in a thousand directions a thousand times. There are certain moments where you choose your paths, this night was one of them, I'm sure of this now.
I lived in a dorm room with a man that was slowly but surely flunking out of pre-med. I only saw him a few times after that year, but I still considered him one of my dearest pre-Gunmen friends. I looked him up on the net about a year ago, determined to find out what happen to the man that lead me to my life. He died from an over-dose seven years to the day that he took me to my split road. To quote, "So it goes."
My roommate, Jake, convinced me to join him at a kegger at a frat house I had never heard of. I declined at first but he continued to plague me until I agreed to attend. He never would leave me alone, reminds me of the kid. I walk with Jake to the large house on the end of Logan, weird the things one remembers after all these years. We walked into the haze of different students running around in the fuzziness of whatever they happen to be on at the time. Jake disappeared into the group within seconds with a beer that seemed to be permently attached to his hand. I picked up a beer, walked over my corner, and waited for Jake to get fucked enough that he would need me to direct him home, reminds me of the kid.
I saw her from there. She was tall, thin but curvaceous with blonde hair spilling down her shoulders, a strong body but not muscular. In a word, perfect. She was the kind of girl I watched from across the room but never got my still pudgy in parts body over to meet. I never would have said a word to her if it haven't been for the next events.
Only as an afterthought did I notice the crystal tears running down her checks. I should have gone over to her when I saw the tears, but years of being a certified nerd kept me in my little corner. Sometimes I wonder if I had never move how my life would have be different, but it doesn't really matter, does it? The person who did make me move was the colossal lug that followed her. He was about 6' 3'', 240 pounds, and pure muscle. His body reminds me of Jimmy without being as gentle a pussy-cat. When she saw him, she started running for the door. He caught up with her easily and grabbed her arm trying to pull her back into the bedroom he had just come out of. She started begging him to let her go. She yelled once while trying to get away. He answered her with a backhand to the face. My father never taught me much about women, but he did teach me never to stand around while one was getting hit by a man. No man's a man who hits a woman, and a man who watches as a women is hit is even less than one.
With a suddenly lose of all perception of my size, shape, or how badly I was about to be beaten, I walked over and between the hunk of muscle and my perfect woman.
"I think you should leave the lady alone," at this point I'm sure voice was quivering. I was looking up a good foot into the beast's face. If nothing else I was destraction. He let go of her arm to pull back his arm in order to hit me hard in the nose. I'm still proud to this day that he didn't manage to drop me, though I was crying a bit as a held my now bleeding nose. I wouldn't have retaliated if he hadn't started after her, but he did. So I pulled my body back up and rushed the giant. This is the part where I would to say I knocked him to the ground, I didn't. I later found out he was the college's quarterback. It was better I didn't know at the time. Before I had time to regroup I was thrown, I mean this literally thrown, across the room. I landed conveniently by the door. I'm not proud of it but I know when to run. That was differently a time to run.
I ran out into the night not completely sure where I was going. I wanted to find her and lose him. I later found out from a very proud Jake that after seeing me make my timely escape he called together a group of his pals to take on revenge on the meaningless violence of the big jock, God he really reminds me of the kid. Jake always clamed to be a hippie but I just don't think he really got the point. Of course, I didn't know this at the time, so I ran like hell down the street until coming to the end of the campus. Convinced no one was following me, I started to walk to a diner I knew was open all night. Most of the more reputable types of the school would have never even known about it; why would they want to eat with hippie scum? I knew I would be safe there until morning. After that, I was betting on the living wall getting drunk off his ass and forgetting the entire event. The retaliation that I feared never did come.
The diner was about a mile and a half away from the party. I was in college without a car; I didn't seem so far at the time. It was a crusty old place with service as bad as the health code violations. It took nearly 45 minutes to get a cup of coffee and an hour after that if you dared try the food. Jake is the only man I seen eat there and live to tell about it. He swore their food was just like his mother's. I will withhold anything this could suggest about his mother. The best part about this place was the fact you could stay for days and no one would bother you. The owner was a real believer in free love and all the beliefs of the day. He would home the homeless most nights in that dump. Another reason the "better people" wouldn't have been caught dead there.
I didn't bother to look around when I first came, nobody but the regulars would have been there at that time of night. I sat down at the counter; all the booths were occupied by people getting their night's rest. I dipped a napkin in the stale water that looked like it had been sitting for a few days to wash my bloody face. I will once again withhold all comments I could make on the bathrooms. I sat quietly trying to determine which of my suddenly multiple deaths was most likely when there she was. In the left corner in the back booth, my mystery angel was sitting over a cup of coffee nursing a bruise on her beautiful face.
Suddenly, I was the uncomfortable kid stuck in the corner again. I was no longer that temporary brave boy who saved her from her abusive boyfriend. I was that weird kid back in third grade. This time I knew there would be no one pushing me in the right direction. Fate had brought me this far; it had to be fate. I never went to parties, I never fought, especially no guys I had no chance in hell of beating, and no girls like her ever came into that diner. The next moment, I found myself grabbing ice from behind the counter and rapping it with one of the cleaner towels.
I walked over silently to her booth. The closer I got the better I could hear her muffled crys. I saw her near silent tears fall into the green plastic coffee cup. I was speechless. There was nothing in my background to prepare me for this. I finished my approach and just stood a second listening. She hadn't noticed me. I finally regained at the very least my mere motor skills and presented the ice pack in front of her. She took it after thanking me gently and applied it to the black mark on her porcelain face. For lack of any better ideas, I took the seat across from her in the booth. We sat in silence for a while.
I watched silently as the waitress come up a filled her cup and gave me one of my own. Our 20 minute silence beginning broken, she decided to speak.
"Thank you … for what you did back there. … I not sure what … err"
"Your welcome, I'm Mel," I had yet to start going by just Frohike and Melvin was just out of the question.
"I'm Emily," she replied in a light voice that was still beautiful through the scratchiness of her tears. Somehow from there on I had managed to start a conversation of sorts. Even in college, I wasn't very talented at talking to girls or talking period. I had a running count of all the stupid comments I had made in my head, but she didn't seem to notice or hold them against me.
I found out a lot about her that night. Her full name was Emily Amy Croft. We were both attending the same college, for a woman at the time this was a great triumph. She was a good student, the prom queen, and everything else that seemed to matter at the time. I remember all the details of what she said, and if you ask me I will fully divulge them to you, but this is better done in person. The most important point is she was gentle, wonderful, loving, and willing to see me again.
We continued to date through the end of year. Jake was perplexed by the suddenly change in his little friend's social standings and attitude torwds school. I was still a good student, of course; I just started to concentrate less on studying every Friday night that I had before. This continued until the end of my college career in 1971 which I left with degree in business. Emily was the light of my life. I had never had this before, a girl who honestly loved me for me. It was additive; I loved her so much.
My Emily finished with her studies the year before. The day of my graduation I asked her to marry me. I was ecstatic when she agreed. We soon moved in an apartment in a decent neighborhood in Washington. Her father, John, had a fair amount of money and started to help us with expenses around the home. John even helped me buy a warehouse in Takoma Park, which we had heard on tip was soon going to be turned into a high scale residential area. The land would sell for twice its worth to contractors who were going to renavate the area. I had also bought Jake's VW mini-bus. He gave it to me at cost saying that he wouldn't need it. Jake said never to sell it; he wanted to say in the family. I still have that bus of course. It looks much different than when it was sold to me, but I would never sell it no matter what.
It was during this time that I started to work at an investment firm. I had gotten my degree in business. I was elected Top Junior Executive for the fall, winter, and spring quarters if you can believe that. We already had our details of our June wedding planned out and paid for, once again by Emily's father. It was around this time that we also discovered that we were pregnant. We were both deleariously happy, though Emily was a little worried if her wedding dress would still fit. We found out in April, she looked perfect at the wedding. I still have a photos of everything stashed around here somewhere. They're so well hidden from the other two, I'm not sure I can find them all that easily, but if you want to see them I will find them.
The wedding was on June 19, 1972. We held it at a beautiful church which I was told by Emily's aunt a thousand times was the same one Emily's parents had been married in. I never was a real religious man; I had no preference where we got married or how as long as I was marrying Emily. I'm looked ridicules standing 5 inches shorter than my bride; the heels added 11/2 inches more than were there normally. Emily on the other hand was perfect. She wore a plain white grown with silver twinge. She had off the shoulder straps and long white gloves. She looked statquese holding pure white lilies spilling down her hands. The troll had got the beauty; I couldn't believe then, and I'm not sure I believe it now. There were hundreds of guests, even Jake magically reappeared and behaved himself for all the festivities. Emily got much more of it than I did. She always wanted a story-book wedding; I just wanted her. We honeymooned, came back, and told everyone the news of soon to be child.
Our darling daughter, Mary-Ann Frohike was born on November 9, 1972. I can't blame my child for anything, and I need you to know that. I'm not sure I can really blame anyone, but I know that this was the beginning of the end. Emily woke up from this dream life while I was still happily in bed. I tried all the things I could to make her happier, but nothing worked. Some people thought is was a nervous-breakdown or that I was making her unhappy or she just wasn't meant to be a mother or a billion other theories I tried to ignored from the gossiping grandma's on our block. I tried, I really tried, but whatever she wanted I didn't have it. Of course there is still much more I can tell you, but this too would also be better done in person.
I remember I thought it was too warm for November the day I came home. It was Mary-Ann's second birthday. I still wasn't satisfied with the insane amount of gifts already bought, so I had stopped at a store on the way home. I wondered if I hadn't stopped if I could have caught her leaving, but she still would have left eventually. I came home to find the place cleared out. My clothes, the major appliances, an empty crib, and our red couch were left. Taped to the couch was a note, I read it a thousand times that day and thousand more since, but still part of me will never accept it. I still remember the words, though the letter is long since gone.
My Dearest Mel,
If anyone is to understand what I'm going through it will be you. I can't sit here and let this happen. I can't become like my mother. You were always impressed with my wits and abilities. I can't live my life not using them. I need to go it alone for a while. I still love you, but not as I once did. You've done nothing but loved and devoted yourself to me and our child. This is why I can't expand why I must leave. I merely know I must. I have taken our daughter with me. No girl should grow up without her mother. I will contact you when I settled so you can see her.
Love,
Emily
P.S. I never meant to hurt you.
I cried. The only time I really remember really, really crying was at this moment. I had to get out of there. I went to the warehouse I had yet to sell. I spent my first there on the cement floor. I woke and went to work. I couldn't return my apartment. I let the lease laps, and I moved into the warehouse full time. I built walls, put in the bathrooms, put in the kitchen. I made it what it is. Now, I have to admit happily it's a little more crowded than it was back then, but the design is the same.
I lost my job. I could no longer handle the stress of what I was doing. This was right before the early eighties when I could have made millions. If I would have stayed on that path, however; I would have died of bleeding ulcer long before now. I quit after the doctor let me decide between five years or a new job. I had learned about from constructing the living spaces in the warehouse. One of my more marketable talents was as electrician. I started working as a handily man, selling illegal cable on the side. I soon found out there was a lot more to made working on computers than doorbells. I quickly self-taught myself everything I could find on the subject, which included multiple embarrassing lessons from that punk ass kid. All this lead me to a con that's form that last 12 years of my life and has brought you back to me.
Oh yes, we've finally gotten to the point haven't we. I said I knew who you were back at the shooting range, and this is true. I've know from the moment I saw you who you were. As I'm sure you know, you look exactly like your mother. Your coloring's a little different but other than that you're as perfect as she was. I wasn't sure enough to send you this at first, but I did a little digging. I found your high school picture from when you were still May-Ann. You look exactly the same.
Your mother never called as she promised, and at the time, I didn't have the capabilities to find her. Even after I got them, it had been so long I was sure you would hate me. When I did go looking, you had long since disappeared. I'm sending this to you now because I need to tell you that no matter what your past has been like I still love you. There hasn't been a day that has gone by where I haven't thought about you or your mother. The only thing I hold against your mother is taking you away from me. I need you to know that I would have done anything to keep you, but there was nothing I could have done. I know that I shouldn't be saying anything, but I can't not do anything. You're my daughter and obviously you've put in a large effort to find me.
If you never want to talk about this I understand. I wish you would though. It pained me these last years to not know, to not know about your life, your childhood, to not know the real you. Please talk to me. All your secrets will stay safe with me. I will go to any lengths to protect you. I don't care what you've done and I'm sorry for second guessing you in the past.
I wish I could say more in this fashion but the right words just won't come. Please just talk to me. I love you, Mary-Ann. /CENER
Your Father,
Melvin Frohike
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