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FROM HELEN BACH…

“One may very well start with Helen’s letters to her sister.”

The last three pieces of correspondence had gone unanswered. That was unusual for Sylvia. She loved to hear her thoughts spring to life and her skill in letter writing was indeed poetic and heart fulfilling.

But Helen Bach, was worried. Sylvia had remained in the family home long after their parents had parted this earthly plain. The neighborhood had become decrepit, and the old homestead reflected as such. And Sylvie could no longer care for the house, or herself for that matter.

Helen had planned to visit her sister. Two of those letters that were returned unopened, stated so much. She had been prepared to change her plans on a moments notice, and stay with Sylvia until she could get back on her feet. But sadly, Sylvia had lost the use of her legs in a fall from the second landing of the staircase.

Her taxicab turned down Mallory Road and as it approached the driveway, Helen noticed something strange. A scarecrow adorned their front yard. It was dressed in Sylvia’s favorite frock, it’s arms draped over the wooden crossbar dangling in the wind. Helen could swear it moved its head. There was no wind of which to speak, so Sylvia ruled that out completely.

The visiting sister gasped in horror when she realized the effigy had indeed moved under its own volition. And it did wear Sylvia’s clothes, being that it was Sylvia that hung in the front yard. A cruel prank by the area thugs who had broken in and ransacked the home.

The officers who had responded to Helen’s enraged call were disgusted in kind as the poor woman was gingerly removed from her perch.

The detective was handed pages of a letter that they found on Sylvia’s kitchen table. It was in Helen’s hand.

“One may very well start with Helen’s letters to her sister.” the investigator posed.

She spoke of coming back home to “hang out” with Sylvia. She had given the scumbags the idea. Helen felt pangs of guilt for leaving her sister to fend for her own independence. Her decision was made for her; she decided to stay.

TRES AMIGOS

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Every Sunday for twenty-two years, Peter, Paul and Frank met for dinner and drinks. It was a reason play catch-up. It always turned into a reason to get “three sheets to the wind”!

They were three friends, the “Tres Amigos” – Pedro, Paulo and Francisco, each with their own charm and specific diversion to drink. Pedro preferred the “Cuervo”; it’s golden elixir cured his ailments. Paulo had a palette for cerveza preparada, a strange blend of beer mixed with tomato juice, hot sauce, or salsa.

But Francisco kept his taste simple and his living clean. Frank was averted to Perrier water. It was of a different tongue both linguistic-wise and libation-wise! But he liked what he liked.

Francesca liked walking in the Spring rain. She liked satin sheets and had a passion for the theater. She was exceptional at interior design. She… wait, did I just say she?

Every Sunday for twenty-two years, Peter, Paul and Frank met for dinner and drinks. It was a reason play catch-up. It always turned into a reason to get “three sheets to the wind”! This Sunday, Frank’s secret came out. And so did Frank!

Salud Tres Amigos!

 

Copyright © – Walter J. Wojtanik 2012