The Finding Tree

Chapter 14 - The Letter

After my afternoon of spacing out, I reconsidered my dinner plans for the week and took Ginny up on her offer of free food with people that loved me.

I walked to the corner CVS, and bought her flowers, or chocolates each afternoon before Miko would pick me up. Her favorites were those gold foil covered hazelnut truffle things called Ferrero Rocher.

They were vile, but I knew she loved them, and she fed me so many awesome things, it was a small price to pay.

I tried peirogi and Jewish latkes for the first time at their table. She made her own corned beef brisket, and experimented with fermented vegetables. She did leather crafting, jewelry, pottery and taught portrait classes at the local community college in the evenings.

Ginny was a force of nature and I loved all of her skills, oddities and talents. We hadn't really talked about our respective histories too much over the years. They knew I had very uninvolved parents and was an only child. I knew they didn't have children, but had a wall of school photos from the students of Miko's high school history class until 1990. I didn't know much, but I could glean a few things.

She and Miko grew up in Poland. She was sixty-three. Miko was sixty-eight. Ginny had a beautiful floral tattoo that twined around her left forearm in pinks, purples and green. It was surprising to see such color on an older woman, but it fit her.

They had come to the United States separately years ago, reunited and fell in love. It was one of those romantic "love at first  or second sight" things, I've read about.

But...they were Jewish. I surmised that Poland was not a nice place to live when they were children, but I wasn't brave enough to ask the questions yet.

Three days into my week before the rest of the student body arrived, I was notified that I had a parcel waiting at the mail center in the cafeteria complex. It wasn't a completely unusual scenario. Marcie and Richard would send me extravagant gifts once or twice a year from where they were at the time. Usually in place of inviting me along, or for an obligatory holiday.

The timing was off, and it was intriguing. So I tugged a t-shirt and jeans on, bought a fancy espresso drink from the new coffee counter at the cafeteria, and presented my pink card at the opening.

"Jane Cameron, Valmoor Hall, Room 408?"

"That's me, I'm Jane"

I smiled at the clerk and waited, tapping my newly painted forest green nails on the worn Formica ledge of the chest high counter.

As I wondered what Ginny might have in store for dinner, and if she'd let me help... a smallish brown box, that was vaguely book shaped was pushed in front of me.

"Sign, here."

I absently scribbled my name, too stunned by the return address to respond.

Looking at the name in the return address portion, written in familiar black marker. The lines sure, and bold. Comfortable and straight, like an upholstered dining room chair. Sturdy enough to support, but just soft enough to keep you there for hours... was the name, "Tom Cameron".

I sighed, like a breath I knew I was holding just for him was let go. I needed space to open this. I couldn't be in my room. I couldn't go to the library... I needed trees, but there weren't any nearby. So I went to the least likely place I could to find them. The gymnasium.

Our gym was a relic. The entire structure was built around the turn of the century and was entirely made of knotty pine boards inside. Walls, ceiling, floor, and an entire side of permanent bleachers that were built in. The furthest seat was up in the rafters, and took about a minute of careful climbing to get there.

It was a wasteland of teenage debauchery up in those hinterlands. Not even the janitor went up all the way except before a home basketball game, and that was only a few times a year.

Carvings, candy wrappers, soda cans, beer bottles... and on one side was the lovers lane area.

I didn't go there.

But somewhere in the middle it was relatively safe, the worst you'd find was a stray cigarette butt, and some creatively carved graffiti, that was more informative than health class.

There were two guys shooting hoops, but they didn't notice me as I climbed to the back wall. I was surprised to see anyone. It was almost a student body assembly at this time of year, but my box was taking up any extra brain space.

I set it down and stared at it a moment. He sent me something. After five years and not a letter, he sent me something. I suppose I should have been angry, anyone with any self worth would have been. How dare he try to contact me again, right?

But I guess I'm too weak to feel that way, all I wanted was my dad. I hoped the drunk wasn't part of him anymore though. After ten seconds of reflection, I realized I'd take the drunk too, if it meant dad was back in my life.

I probably needed more therapy.

I laughed at the thought. I supposed I should give my doctor a call. It had been several months, and whatever this was had stirred the hornets nest with a stick.

I pried the box open, splitting the tape with a fingernail. Inside there was a brown leather journal, that looked old. It was tied with a long braided leather lanyard. On top in a plain business size envelope was a letter, with my name on it "Janey". Written in my dad's same strong hand.

I unfolded the two sheets of notebook paper and looked for the start.

August 1, 1995

Dear Janey,

Since I know how hard it is to write this, I think I know how hard it is for you to read those words, after such a long time not hearing from me. I only have one thing I can say to you. "I'm Sorry." I know it's not any comfort to hear them, but I do really mean it. I'm very sorry for how I left you... I know you haven't had it easy with Richard and Marcie. But I did what I thought was the best I could do for you at the time. 

I tried to see you before you left for school a few days ago, but I missed you by one day. The housekeeper said you'd left this morning for school. So I thought I'd send this the old fashioned way.

In case you're interested in my history, here goes. After I walked out on you that awful day. (It's burned in my memory how I treated you, and I'll never forget the way you looked at me.) I was homeless within six weeks. I couldn't pay any rent. I was drinking constantly, trying to block out the pain of losing my family, my purpose and my life.

I stayed down there and wallowed around in the darkness for about three years. You really shouldn't bear the burden of those details, so I'll keep them to myself.

But one day, I met someone. Someone who has a spark about them, like you do. Someone who could see me. The real me underneath all the shit I had layered on top to cover up the pain of what I had done, and who I was. It was breathtaking to see me through her eyes.

She was an addict too, but on her way up, and she gave me the opportunity to try again if I wanted it. And Janey... by that time I really wanted it. It's been two years, and I've finally gotten to the point where I need to make amends to the people I've wronged.

I've cleaned up. I'm sober, I have an apartment, a real job at a steel fabrication shop. I've been in a stable loving relationship with my fiancé now for a year. Her name is Hannah, and I think you'd really like her. Currently, I've been going through the things I left in Uncle Bill's garage and I found this journal from your Great grandma Mabel.

You should have it. I remember her giving it to me before she died. She said I should give it to my little girl when I grew up. I was only a kid and I had no idea what she meant. But now I'm not so sure, I think she knew more than she let on.

So here it is, Mabel's gift to you, my beautiful daughter.  My brother is an asshole, but he sends me your school picture every year. You've grown up so beautifully, Janey. I miss your sweet smile.

I love you very much, and I hope to hear from you at some point, if you'd like to stay in contact.

Your dad,
Tom.