It's Not What You Think

Some Letters

Some things related to this fic I wrote during my band "final"

Ben,

We've been dating for a while now, and I think it's been pretty good. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you about Mom and Trixie, but it's not like I'm an alien.

Anyway, if you're not mad at me (and I really don't think you are), I still think you're great and amazing and super smart, which is why I'll sign off:

Dreamyly yours,

Erica.

Ben stared at the letter in front of him, so very confused. First of all by the fact that Erica had written him a letter when they were with each other and could have just talked, but also because Erica didn't seem like the type to misspell a word, and especially not a word as simple as dreamily.

"Do you get it?" Erica asked Ben, and he shook his head.

"And I thought you were smart," Erica said. "But maybe you'll figure it out in Gettysburg."

"Is this supposed to be some kind of code?" Ben asked.

"Do you think it's a code?"

"I don't know."

"Then maybe you'll just have to figure it out yourself," Erica said cryptically.

***

Dearest Catherine,

I do hope everything is alright where you are. I hope-

Oh, it's no use, Alexander thought. What a phone call can't fix certainly can't be solved by a letter. Especially since Alexander sucked at writing letters. It wasn't that he misspelled too many words or that his handwriting was illegible, but Alexander knew that anything he would write would seem pathetic in comparison to what Catherine could have done.

Catherine would have written a letter like this on fancy paper, maybe with a personalized letterhead. And her handwriting would have been much prettier than Alexander knew he could have ever managed to write in. Maybe this mess could have been cleared up with a letter she wrote, but certainly not with a letter Alexander wrote.

***

Hi Mom and Dad,

Catherine took us on a little bit of a surprise field trip down south aways. I'm still not sure exactly where we're going, but don't worry. We're all good here. And hey, maybe we'll be able to come to visit you soon. That would be nice.

Ben

Ben flipped over the postcard to look at the picture of the cannon on the back of it. A bit of an odd choice, he thought, but maybe people liked that sort of thing. He'd bought it at the gift shop in the visitor's center at Gettysburg, planning to drop it off at the next mailbox he found.

They weren't buying much at the gift shop, but Mike did get a keychain of a bullet with his name on it, a purchase Ben found confusing more than anything else.

"Do you even have any keys?" Ben asked.

"Does it matter?" Mike asked. "Now if someone ever says they have a bullet with my name on it I can just say that they don't because I do. And besides, maybe I'll get some keys somewhere."

"Ok," Ben said, still thinking that was a little weird.