Felicity

from, lennon

To Ruvian. For being as sweet as her ice cream series.

January 8th, 1993

Dear Sam,

The city's great. Few trees and all. Tall buildings that a bird could accidentally smash into. It's nothing like Georgia. How's home by the way? Aunt Shay doin alright? Are you doin okay? I'll send you a few dollars so you can buy yourself whatever you're cravin for. Take it easy alright, for me and mom.

Lennon.

     Lennon had never really noticed how messy of a handwriting he had before actually writing his first letter after leaving Georgia. He had thought about writing a postscript afterward to Sam, explaining the horrid penmanship that bled through the paper. Sam probably wouldn't have been able to read it anyway. Lennon had remembered that the postage stamps were in one of the drawers in the kitchenette. He had seen his mom taking out a lidless box with some old receipts and unpaid bills that would probably be untouched for a quite a longer time till she would get letters notifying the fact that they were overdue.

     Some postage stamps had been littered on the counter as well. After a long deliberation with himself, he had finally decided on finding the stamps tomorrow and preparing a few dollars to sustain Sam's fifteen-year-old needs and maybe some new video game cassettes for his Nintendo console.

     Sam. He could see him in his head. He could see him sitting on his unmade bed probably drawing on a piece of paper some stick-figure cartoons. Lennon wanted to make a call but then he had remembered Sarah, the landlord, knocking at their door at seven in the morning saying that the land line would be down for repairing. So he sat thinking about Sam's voice that he wouldn't hear for quite a while.

     Before Lennon had risen from his seat, the sound of a missile if it were an ounce penetrated his window pane with a pang. His head perched upward, looking out the scratched panes. Yet another pang sounded before Lennon set his eyes upon the blond behind the window in front of his. Felicity. Unlatching the window's hinges he then pulls it up and over his head. He leant against the ledge with his hands pressed hard enough on the ledge's mold that his knuckles turned white.

          "You okay?" Felicity stared at Lennon with an expression that was clearly monotone, evidently to her posture. Thoughts paraded in Lennon's mind as she propped her elbow up into supporting her head that leant against the frames of her window.

          "I'm fine," the words had carelessly slipped out of his mouth .
          "Well you sure do a shitty job at showing it."

     Lennon rubbed his neck. He was feeling a little one sided with himself, becoming a little indecisive to the fact that she might ask what was going on and that he'll have to answer. He never shared the problems he had with anyone. Nobody needed to know the set of problems that Lennon had been given. They weren't meant to be shared. They were meant to be solved and quite frankly, he was doing a shitty job of doing just exactly that.

          "You know what the art of relief is?"
          "What?"
          "Just kick off your shoes and don't give a damn."

     Lennon had no time for a philosophical lecture and it seemed that Felicity was far off the edge of actually giving one maybe due to the small commotions of traffic coming down the other end of the alley. He found her quite appealing when she talked like she had nothing against life or even existing. He liked that about her. She was such an amateur with handling problems that she seemed like a pro. Lennon was being lectured by a pro-amateur.

     He managed to crack a smile, finding it helplessly funny how she had handled such a situation. Her eyes wrinkled as well and before they both knew it, they had been silently giggling.

          "Seriously Lennon, don't give a damn. You keep on worrying you'll end up like my old man- hanging off the verge of insanity."
          "Alright."

With the alright did he then pull down his window, watching from across as she did so too.