Page 34 of Nineteen Letters

I let the heat of the midday sun hit my skin. It’s an exquisite autumn day, and I suddenly feel grateful to be alive. That in itself says so much. Not that long ago, I wished I had perished in that accident. Those first few weeks were a dark time for me, but now I’m finally seeing the light.

I feel my lips curve into a smile as I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with air. Today would be a perfect day to sit on the beach, but it’s on the other side of town, and though my leg is improving every day, I’m in no shape to walk such a long distance. I’m confident that I will be in time.

When I round the corner to the main street, I mill in with the rest of the crowd. It doesn’t take long for the sea of faces headingtowards me to get my blood pumping to where I have to keep telling myself not to panic, that I can do this.I have to do this.

I walk another ten or so metres before it almost becomes too much. What if I pass someone I should know but no longer do? What if they stop me? What do I say? All these questions and more swim around in my head. I thought I was ready to tackle this head-on, but I’m obviously not.

I weave through the mass of people until I emerge into a small clearing. Leaning my back against a wall, I take a few deep breaths. I was stupid to think that I could jump in head first. What I need is a plan of attack.

I dig through my bag, looking for my phone. After turning it on, I stare at the screen as I wait for it to come alive. When it does, I see it’s 12.17 pm. On cue, my stomach growls. All the hydrotherapy I do certainly works up my appetite, and Christine usually has a sandwich waiting for me when I arrive back from my physio. Ham, cheese and lettuce has been my sandwich of choice ever since I read Braxton’s letter.

My gaze moves to the left as I scope out the shops ahead. I see a small alfresco dining area further down, so I head in that direction. Christine stuffed a fifty-dollar note into my pocket before I left the house.“Just in case of an emergency,”she’d said.

Like Braxton, she’s very good to me. I might not remember my life with them, but I appreciate the care they’ve shown me. I know how lucky I am to have them. I’d hate to think about where I’d be without their support.

When I reach the restaurant, I read the neon sign above the entryway:Callaghan’s Burger and Grill. I can’t remember what a burger even tastes like, or whether I even like them, but the delicious aroma coming from inside is enough to make my stomach growl again.

With that in mind, I make a conscious decision to go in. Today is a day of discovery, so I’m going to try a burger and find out for myself.

Once inside, I scan the décor. This place isn’t fancy, but it appears to be clean. The bright lime-green walls are the first thing to draw my attention. It’s not the greatest colour, but with the large strategically placed black-and-white prints, and the black wooden tables and chairs, it works well.

The uncertainty creeps in again as I look around the restaurant for some kind of clue what to do. There are some people already seated, but there’s also a woman and a young couple standing in front of the counter. Relief floods me when I spot a sign that says,‘Please order and pay before being seated’.

I come to a stop behind the couple ordering. The menu board stretches across the back wall, and the vast array of choices overwhelms me. I’m so engrossed in deciding that I don’t notice when the couple pays for their order and take a seat at one of the tables.

“Next,” the male server says in an abrupt tone.

My eyes meet his briefly as I step towards the counter, and I’m surprised by the annoyance I see on his face. When my gaze fixes on the menu once more, the panic I felt earlier rushes back and grows as I desperately try to make a decision. When he impatiently clears his throat, my eyes dart back to him.

“Umm …”

“Come on, lady, I don’t have all day.”

“Can I … umm … get …” My words drift off.

“Can you … umm … getwhat?” he repeats mockingly.

His rudeness has me on the verge of tears. I open my mouth to tell him I’ve changed my mind about placing an order, when an elderly gentleman approaches. The friendly smile on his face has a slight calming effect on me.

“Is there a problem here, Mr Wilson?” The mention of that name sparks something within me, and now I find myself staring at the man before me.

“Nope, no problem,” the server replies with a smile. This must be his boss because his bad attitude instantly vanishes.

The elderly gentleman nods his head in approval and smiles at me once more before walking away. I want to call out that everything isn’t okay, and his employee is a rude jerk, but I don’t. Instead, I focus again on Mr Wilson. That name is so familiar. Why? And then it hits me. Larry‘The Looter’Wilson. It couldn’t be. I seek out the name badge on his shirt and can’t help but stare when I see the name ‘LARRY’ engraved in bold black letters.

My eyes scan his face as my mind races. How many twenty-something Larry Wilsons with a bad attitude can there be? He’s tall, just like Braxton had said, and around my age;it has to be him. That thought has my pulse racing. I see nothing recognisable as I study his chubby face. His receding hairline only makes his face look even rounder.

He opens his mouth to speak and I notice his teeth are stained brown and appear to be rotting. This guy has nothing going for him in the looks department, and his personality certainly leaves a lot to be desired.

Braxton’s story gives me the courage to lean forward into Larry’s space. It may be around twenty years too late, but I presume I never got the chance to wreak my revenge for what he did to me, and for the trouble he caused Braxton. I feel compelled to put him in his place.

I raise my hand towards my mouth and glide my fingertip over my front teeth. “You have some mud stuck between your teeth,” I whisper, trying my hardest to remain serious. His eyes narrow as he looks hard at me, clearly confused. “Just there.” I run my finger over my teeth once more. “Mud … in your teeth.”

His eyes widen, and his face turns a bright shade of red. “It’s not mud,” he snaps.

I stop fighting my smile now. It’s funny, a few minutes ago I was on the verge of tears and now I’m struggling to contain my laughter. If it weren’t for the letters from Braxton, I never would have known the significance of this moment. Words can’t even express how grateful I am for that, or how satisfying this moment feels.

“Crazy bitch,” he mumbles under his breath as I turn and head towards the exit. His nasty comment doesn’t get under my skin, even though that word—crazy—is pretty close to home for me right now.