Chapter 9

Mr. Fischoeder is a fascinating man. I could rarely expect what he would say or do next. Getting involved in the local go-kart race track was his latest pet project. Honestly, I think he threw his hat in the ring simply to race with Felix whenever he wanted. I had finally been able to convince him to just build a track on his rambling private property and then he wouldn't have to even leave home. He celebrated by inviting over his "money friends," which included friends that possessed great wealth and his employees who knew just how much money that was, for a late night grand prix. My back was going to hurt for weeks, getting in and out of those karts and getting slammed into the rails over and over. I think maybe Calvin was thinking of bumper cars instead but I felt like I had whiplash and sciatica. My thirties were looming in just a few months and my body had gotten a jump start on them.

"Fuck, how does Fischoeder stay so limber?" I muttered to myself as I was trying to tidy up my apartment. A second later I chuckled to myself and decided I probably didn't need to know. It likely was semi-illegal and ethically bankrupt.

Being more sore than I had been in years, back when I had jumped off a roof into a kiddie pool, wasn't going to stop my apartment from needing a good sweeping and vacuum and dusting. I had a cleaning service for a while but I stopped the service because I wasn't around enough for my apartment to get very dirty…or so I thought. True, I didn't create a ton of work in the way of trash and I kept my kitchen mess small, so it seemed like it would be easy to do by myself. But dusting! Hair and fuzz and dirt- all this stuff tracked in on my shoes, fell off my head, shed from my body. So I was moving around my furniture to get in the nooks and crannies of my living room while muttering to myself about the general filth created by humanity and also how badly my back hurt. The table near the front door where I left my keys and dropped mail on would not go back into place.

I pulled it further away from the wall and saw that something had fallen down behind it and was jammed up against the baseboard. With a grunt of pain I reached down to pull it out and realised it was a large mailer, the prepaid kind the post office sells. I recalled placing it on the table months ago but hadn't opened it right away as I was on my way out. It must have fallen down behind the table and I had completely forgotten about it. Out of sight, out of mind I guess.

There was no return address to tip off the sender. The handwriting was neat, precise, and totally anonymous. I didn't recognize it at all. From the bulging it wasn't just a letter but something soft. Fabric maybe? Jacob had tried to initiate a boxer swap game last Christmas. Had he just sent a bunch of dudes underwear with the assumption we would reciprocate? Time had gotten away from me so it's possible I hadn't spoken to Jacob since then.

The second I ripped open the envelope, I knew that the sender wasn't Jacob. I reached in and pulled out those stupid pink ears. They were exactly as I remembered. There was a small singed place on one ear. At some point after the fire they had been washed because they didn't smell like smoke. I was dumbstruck.

After a moment I gathered myself and put the hat down. I couldn't believe what I was looking at. I let my hand holding the envelope fall down to my side, upending the package and letting a sheet of paper glide down to the floor. With more speed than I thought I was capable of at the moment, I snatched up the paper to see if there was any explanation that would give this sense. The handwriting on the page was as neat and tidy as the address on the envelope.

"Logan-

Last month I hit a low point in my life and took to a bottle of scotch to try to drown my feelings. In doing so, I let my feelings loose instead of dealing with them like I should have and in some twisted logic I turned the blame on you. Once I was in custody, screaming about you was my childish excuse. Of course nothing was your fault. It was all me.

The way you helped me- bailing me out, getting me home safely, and letting my sister and her husband know what was going on- that was kindness on a level I did not deserve. I let myself hold onto a childish grudge for so long, it's silly really. So I sought a way to say thank you for your kindness and maturity. I figured that after all this time, it's finally your turn to have the ears. Thank you, Logan. If there is ever anything I can do for you, well, you know where I live.

-Louise

P.S. Don't be upset with Tina for telling me. It's good that I know. Now I can try to become the person who deserves such care from a frenemy."

After I read the letter once, twice, five or six times, I let it fall to the table next to the pink ears. What was I to make of this? An apology after all this time? Well no. She hadn't apologised, exactly. That thought made me smile. Of course there wasn't an apology . This is Louise Belcher we're dealing with, here. But she did thank me. Does that mean she'd let go of the long-standing rivalry? Did it mean that we could be... friends?

Maybe. Or maybe she was just letting the past go and not actively trying to ruin my life or stick voodoo dolls of me with pins any longer. All cleaning chores now had an internal cycle of deep thought.

I had never really stopped thinking about her. After New York, I would occasionally let my mind wander back to the young woman with the long black hair and form fitting jeans and a spicy retort to leering creeps. Before the divorce those thoughts made me feel very guilty. After the divorce the memories of her, the pondering of what she was doing now, the mental image of her smiling with a bronze statue on a New York public street did not elicit guilt per se but instead a feeling of wistfulness. What could have been would cross my mind and I would have to shake it off and get back to dealing with reality as it was.

When she had her drunken breakdown, I reacted as if she were a damsel in need of rescuing but that was never Louise. Well, outside of a house fire, anyway. After the drunk and disorderly charge, I kicked myself for weeks. She would not have wanted me of all people to know about it. The only saving grace was that I assumed Tina had kept my involvement a secret. Apparently that had not been the case.

Six months. Six months had passed with this olive branch just hanging out there. What she must think of me! This looks so bad, like I didn't even care enough about such a meaningful gesture to respond to her. Oh man, my stomach hurt. I had to figure out how to repair this. There had to be something I could do.

After wracking my brain all day as I did housework, I tried to come up with ideas or plans. If I could only get back into her life maybe we could be the friends I wanted us to be. Maybe we could be…

I set the ears on my nightstand before I fell asleep staring at them and hoping I could find an answer soon.