---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN#/ ISBN# issue/book “Night in the City” cc&d, v311 (the July 2021 issue) Order the 6"x9" paperback book:

Order this writing in the book What If the cc&d May-August 2021 magazine issues collection book		get the 426 page May-August 2021 cc&d magazine 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Regarding Utopia the 2021 poetry, flash fiction, prose, & art collection anthology		get the 396 page poetry, flash fiction, prose, & artwork & photography collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Dear Alice

Aaron Weinzapfel

Dear Alice,

    Not long ago, I looked up Alice. It was a real shot in the dark considering it had been a very long time. Why would I bother? But for the obvious reasons. I had been alone long enough - that is to say a sufficient amount of time, since my last correlation - which by all accounts ended in a melee, a meltdown, and a molting. I was ready to feel my new skin. And once you want to feel your new skin . . . you want to feel it now.
    She had never left my thoughts completely during all those years, but she had been especially on my mind, early in the morning, or late in the evening, as I stood in the mirror with my new skin. My memory of her was hazy, other than very blonde, with eyes that were more sky than crystal. That, and a certain impression she had once made, when stopping by her house to deliver an eighth ounce of weed to her boyfriend and her, she answered the door wearing a half shirt, with no bra, and cut-off jean shorts. The outfit, if not specifically for my benefit, was neither aborted for my anticipated arrival, and it revealed a certain scope that was not so detectable under the work smock I was used to seeing her in. I remembered that very well.
    More so than a clear picture of her, was the distinct memory that every time our lives managed to re-converge, I had always been taken aback at how much lovelier she was than the time before. The last was the most remarkable. My girlfriend was away, visiting her family. Had Alice not brought a discerning friend with her on a spontaneous visit, that girlfriend and I might never have made it to the melee. I would have not only caved in, but perhaps burned my apartment to the ground, faked my death, and run off to start anew with Alice.
    There were times over the years that we had almost consummated - so close that I will always remember the pain of the miss. But I had never so much as kissed her. I had never run into her when we were both single – each of us passing through several girlfriends and boyfriends without ever once threading the needle. The first blunder was just weeks after the weed delivery, a different girlfriend was off to work for hours and needing me to pick her up – no chance of a surprise or early arrival. All the stars had aligned for an unsanctioned afternoon. Was it nerves? Was it the weed? I played it cool until the minutes had all slipped away. The phone rang, and as I hung it up, Alice knew - we were out of time. The sorrow between us was palpable. We had failed. I wasn’t a cheater by nature, but the urge to merge with this particular girl was such, that I was fool enough to put myself in the situation knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist. Yet, to each of our disappointments, I did resist. Walking her to her car, she said, “Maybe we should have some drinks next time.” So my integrity was preserved by default. Stronger characters than I have relied on poor timing and puny closing skills to keep their commitments.
    It had been three weeks since I sent the letter to her last known address in Denver. It was like throwing a message in a bottle into a fountain at a mall that was about to close forever. But by the grace of God and his perverse sense of humor, it had found her, some 5 addresses and a state away . . . in Taos, NM. I say perverse, because after completing such an unlikely journey, she was married. Well, you get to be that age. It wouldn’t be much longer that everyone would be getting divorced. By the time my phone rang, I had forgotten her and the letter.
    “Aaron it’s Alice, I got your letter.” She couldn’t believe that the note had found her. We talked for hours. And while she was drinking wine, I was still on the wagon from the melee-meltdown-molting. I didn’t think my new skin, like tissue paper, could handle the drinking just yet. She was still funny and sweet and flirtatious, and I swore I could feel the wine flowing right through the phone and into me as I lay, eyes closed, on my living room floor. After a while she was drunk, and some things were said. She asked that if we were ever for some reason single at the same time, that we would be together. Even married, she was still trying to thread the needle. Oh hell, sometimes you just feel like saying something. We shared a moment, remembering all the moments that we never got to share. There was a heaviness to it, both of us realizing that we had thought of each other all these years and had wondered. Being the married one and the drunk one, it was her job to set the boundaries - and then stagger back and forth all across them. It was pretty innocent in my book, but I know . . . I have a much bigger book than most.
    A week went by before I caved in and decided to call her, like she said that I should. When he answered, I asked for her by name. . . how else?
    “Who is this?” he wanted to know. I tried to explain that I was an old friend from Denver, but he cut me off.
    “This number is unlisted. How did you get it?” I got nervous. He had that jealous husband tone, the one that has always made my tongue acrid and skin prickly.
    “The internet,” I lied. I didn’t have the internet, and wasn’t sure what it was capable of, but I was sure that this guy didn’t either. I had jumped to conclusions. I didn’t want to implicate her. Thinking of the miraculous letter and how long we had talked and how sappy it had gotten, it suddenly didn’t seem so innocent, even for my book.
    “This is an unlisted number and only my name is on it. How did you get my number?” he repeated.
    “The internet,” I said again, trying to stay even toned. I was stuck in a lie. She would have no idea what I was telling him. There could be no collusion. If I caved in now it would only heighten his suspicion that I had more to hide. Oh, Goddamn it! Why hadn’t I just rented a porno movie?
    “I don’t believe you,” he said. He was getting aggressive and the picture of their marriage was becoming clearer. I decided to double down. If she were listening, she would know that I had covered.
    “Look,” I said, “I know a guy. He knows how these things work. I gave him her name and last address I knew, and he found this number.” Wow, now that was pretty good, I thought, but he didn’t bite.
    “I don’t believe you man! I want to know how you got this number and why you are calling my wife!” I was getting little tingles in my spine, like he might be knocking on my door in 7 hours, or like I might be responsible for Alice’s safety, but I was also getting angry. Who was this fucking guy to say I didn’t know somebody that could do that?
    “Hey, it’s nothing to worry about. I didn’t know she was married. I was just looking up an old friend. I don’t mean to cause problems and I won’t call again.” I was puffing my chest at the phone.
    “Yea, it’s a problem when I have men I don’t know calling my unlisted number and asking for my wife.”
    “Well like I said, I’m a friend from a long time ago. She must have put this number on something - credit card application, bill - something. It’s not too hard these days. I’m gonna go ahead and hang up now and you’ll never hear from me again.” And that is what I did.
    The evening was pretty well ruined after that. And though it hadn’t been much before, at least there is a sort of peace to your run of the mill loneliness. Now I was agitated and paranoid – unable to read or even watch television. I felt guilty and hoped I hadn’t caused her too much trouble. But I cursed her too. Why in the hell did she tell me to give her a call knowing she’s got a guy like that for a husband? She could have warned me to just hang up . . . or pretend I was selling vinyl siding. I made some bedtime tea and waited for the phone to ring . . . which it did. As it lit up and vibrated across the table I could only sit and watch, as if it were too hot to touch, as if the person on the other end were in flames. The number on it wasn’t hers. It could be him calling me to tell me he still didn’t believe me. And if it was her? What to say? In my mind I was setting off little bombs across the country. Somewhere down there in Taos, Alice’s residence was fully ablaze and spreading to the neighbors. My fingerprints would be there - under all the ashes. The message went like this:
    “Hi, its Alice, I’m at a pay phone so you don’t need to try this number back. Sorry you had to call and get my husband. I guess it’s not respectful for me to have male friends. I wouldn’t want him talking to another woman on the phone. I’m sorry. You’ve been a good friend. Goodbye.”
    It’s a strange type of lonesome - losing someone you never had. It’s startling to be dumped from somewhere you never were. What a sad tale of longing, lust, . . . and maybe even love - that never was.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...