Last Bandit: Book 1 in The Bandits Series

I Think It's Love Again

Chapter 9: I Think It's Love Again ~

"Hey, man, you got mail," Roxie says as she pans through the envelopes in her hand.

She walks up to me as I relax on the couch and sip a beer. Then she reaches out her hand and gives me my mail. I know who it is from, and as I read the return address to be sure, I feel Roxie's eyes on me.

"Who'd ya send a letter to? I never asked ya. Got a girl back home? Mom and dad?"

I stare down at the envelope in my hands as I reply, "She's in St. Louis."

Roxie takes a seat next to me and scooches in close. "Well, open it."

I do as she says, though I don't want her to see what Mary Ann has to say. But I don't know how to politely tell her to go away.

Just as I remove the letter, there's a knock on the door, so Roxie gets up to answer it. While her attention is pulled away from me and this paper I hold in my hand, I read it quick.

December 30, 1989

Dear Johnny,

Thank you very much for the letter. I really can't thank you enough, in fact. There's much to learn about you, and that letter allowed me to see a little part of your wonderful world.

I sound very formal, don't I? Or maybe I'm just over thinking and used to writing intelligent letters to teachers and upper classified people because of my position in school. I've come to dread my so called 'profound knowledge'. I just try to get good grades. I'm not bragging, I'm doing the opposite.

I really admire you because you're so unique and not afraid to be. Here I am as the standard, religious, good girl I hear so much about while you're out there in the world, Hollywood, California, doing your thing and listening to music my parents forbid me from hearing.

Speaking of music, I sneak into my grimy, old basement and pull out the tape player almost every night since you have been gone. Styper's songs are the perfect mixture of rock and roll and biblical references. But I don't want to hear about any more religious shit. Excuse my language.

I still love Stryper, however, since they are the first real rock and roll group I have ever listened to a whole lot. Usually, my parents play hymns and the Christian radio station. I'm so tired of all of that. The music you shared with me was very fresh and fun and made me want to dance instead of bow my head.

I'm very glad you have found your home, and I'm very glad good people have taken you in. Hollywood is where you belong. Surely, you'll experience some glitz, glamor and luxury while there. You deserve it.

I told my parents of your letter and thank yous, so naturally, they wanted to view the letter, but I wouldn't let them, and they were surprised. I have never disobeyed my parents and told them 'no', which might be even slightly surprising because there are just some things one does not want to do. But I always felt like I had to. I was raised that way, unfortunately.

Anyway, they thought it was nice of you to write and say thank you. Both of them like you more than I would have expected. They talk about you a lot, saying worried things as if you're their own son. They are worried about you. More than me, but I think that's perfectly okay. I'm worried about you too, to be honest.

Twenty-one isn't too far from my age, but yes, our age difference frightens society. It breaks the rules. It is frowned upon for a teenage girl to have sexual interactions with a grown man. Sure, you were a teenager just a few years ago, but now you're considered grown up, and I'm thought of as a hormonal thing going through a 'change'. Truthfully, I'm sixteen, soon to be seventeen in February.

So sure, I'm not that young, but like I said, people don't like that age gap between a sixteen year old girl and a twenty-one year old man. It's somehow different for a forty-six year old woman and a fifty-one year old man, even though both pairs are just five years apart. Between a sixteen year old and a twenty-one year old is a change of phase, a transformation, whatever you want to call it. People think it's inappropriate for a couple like us to be together for that matter.

It simply doesn't matter to me. None of it. I used to believe and practice abstinence until marriage. Then I met you, and by God, I fell in love with you just as you did with me. Maybe it all sounds cheesy, like we're a couple of kids who think they know what love is. I don't think I know what love is. I set my eyes upon you and love filled my heart. Now, that's cheesy, but completely true.

Love at first sight is something told in storybooks. Well, perhaps we're just a part of God's storybook. He's writing our story, planning to finish it off with a happy ending.

And Johnny, I refuse to let you escape from me. Just like you, I'm not one to go around having sex. You were the first person to ever touch me in the ways you did, and I'm not going to just forget about that or you. Don't worry about your mother or my mother or all mothers. And don't worry about me becoming a nun because I have given it up. I'm just afraid to tell my parents.

In the name of God, I will not let you go. I barely even know you, Johnny Silvers, yet I love you so much. Much, much more than I thought I could love somebody.

Go put together your band while I figure out how to escape from this hell ridden town. I know you have a passion and gift for music, and you should share it with whoever you can. Play until you can't play anymore.

There's no need to pray for me. I'm surrounded by religious characters and holy water and church. I'll pray for you, and you should pray for yourself too. How you do it is just fine.

Please keep writing to me. I hope you too had a great Christmas. And I believe in your love.

I love you too.

~ Mary Ann Montgomery

Slowly, I drift away from the letter. The spinning world comes back to me as I realize Roxie is gone. And I'm alone.

I would kill to hold Mary Ann in my arms right now. To fell her gentle skin and run my hand through her pale, blonde hair. To kiss her and touch her and feel her love alongside mine makes me want to do anything to receive the ability to do all of that stuff at this moment. But she's miles and miles away. I don't have enough money for a plane ticket. I'm stuck here and she's stuck there, both of us alone, even though people are all around.

I don't think it's good for her to love me. My previous girlfriend loved me and that's why she had trouble getting away. She couldn't handle me anymore, but she was in too deep to let me go. That's until she moved to Florida suddenly to live with her grandparents. She told me if she saw me ever again, she wouldn't be able to live, for if her heart cracked even the slightest bit more, she wouldn't survive. How am I to live with that? And what if that happened to Mary Ann? How would I be able to survive knowing I damaged two perfect women?

I guess I'm pretty fucked up for girls to get so worn out by the things I do. Yet why do they fall in love with me in the first place? I'm a loser, a deadbeat, a fuck up, everything in the book of bad guys. Why don't they see that? Why do they fall in love with me? I don't want them too. I don't want to hurt them. I don't want to hurt Mary Ann like I did to the girl before her.

If I didn't love Mary Ann back I would let her go, let her love me with her delicate heart until she cracked. If I didn't love her, I'd let her cry and die and shatter. I'd ignore her and stare at her blankly as she spun into a messy ball of depression.

But I love her to death and I can't let that happen to her.

I can do something to change myself. I can cut out the drinking and the drugs and the wackiness of my life for her. I wouldn't mind doing it. But I know it's terribly hard. I've tried it so, so many times before, and I've just slipped back into the all too familiar taste of alcoholism and drug use. Once the damn Jack Daniels and the fucking pills from hell come into my view, I'm like a puppy feasting on a fresh slab of ribs, barking and howling for more.

It's all so addicting that I want something more than a measly beer now. Something stronger to take away the worry and the pain. I'm such a God damn weak motherfucker with a burning passion for some strength. What a fucking disgrace I am.

What a fucking worthless disgrace.