The Letter – A bit of a story, a memory, and a mystery (at least to me)
Late into the night I could hear Max typing and typing and typing on that old (then new) manual typewriter. The keys pounding away against the platen as if he was pounding out communications to some far away army. Max was anything but subtle back then. It was the 1920’s after all and a great time to be an over emotional, always on edge, aggressive, and dare I say “alpha” Vampire.
I was staying with my brother Max for a few months, for some unknown reason. I was between things. I was always between things.
The house he lived in had a view of San Francisco Bay and was a perfect place for me to set up my easel and paint. But between the two of us the clatter of our typewriters could be deafening, though back then I preferred to write longhand.
One night, while bringing my brother a glass of wine… I must stop and explain… why yes, Prohibition was going on. Alcohol was more or less illegal. It was extremely illegal. We didn’t care. We did what we wanted. We had money, and we were Vampires.
So, back to my story.
I brought Max a glass of wine and asked him what he was working on. He looked up at me with one hazel eye and one brown eye, and scowled.
“A letter.”
“Who, pray tell are you writing this letter too. It sounds like you’re ready to kill that typewriter.”
He let out a deep breath, which was unusual for Max, who is usually in total control of everything, including his emotions. “I wrote a letter to her, and then as I was on my way to the post office I decided NOT to send it. When I returned home I discovered the letter was not in my pocket. I retraced my steps. Someone must have, out of the kindness of their heart, mailed it for me.”
Then he issued a long trail of swear words, and then ran his hands through his hair.
“It might have gone into the gutter, or been swept away.”
“I doubt it,” he said.
“So now what are you doing?”
“I’m attempting to write something to tell her that what I said was written in a moment of brain fever and to ignore it.”
“What the hell did you tell her Max?”
He pulled the paper out of the typewriter and threw it in the fire. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll live with the consequences.”
Now, ninety six years later, Max and the woman in question are engaged to be married. I don’t know what happened to the typewriter, or what was in the lost letter. Neither one of them have told me, and I am not going to ask.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
Vampire Maman 