The Letter Opener

With Henry's coffin freshly settled below her feet in the Seattle soil, she held the envelope against the setting sun with pale green hands. The sky smelt of burnt almonds and pine, with the last reflections of pink and orange light fading from her skin. Now, only the stars held her company, a woman of eighty-three, holding a sixty year old envelope in her hands. Its face read "To Fascia Moore" in large, black print with familiar faint blue lines peeking through the thin envelope.

It was only one piece of paper (or at least that's what it felt like), but for all the weight it carried, it felt a ton.

Fascia Jones slid the envelope into the purse where she had kept it all these years, sighed, then slowly walked through the graveyard at midnight toward her car. The ground felt stiff, over burdened, and didn't seem to want the weight of Fascia's footsteps. When she reached her car, she suddenly found herself inside, holding her hands together. She had no recollection of opening the car door, nor taking the pains to sit down and get comfortable. Yet her seatbelt was already on and she was blankly staring through the windshield. The engine wouldn't turn over. Fascia's hands were far from the ignition, clasping each other and catching her tears before they fell on her formal black dress, her veil already soaked and clinging to her face with every sob. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind rolling over her car.

- - - - - -

He always knows what to say she thought to herself. Fascia looked into Henry's eyes, laughing, and thought What if he's "the one? " What if all the time we’ve been friends, we were supposed to be something more? What would happen if we actually. . .

"Hey Fascia" called Henry, standing at the door of her dorm room, "are you going to stare at the wall all day, or will you give me the divine pleasure of your company at the diner?"

I've been staring at the wall? No. . .no! I've been to our wedding. . .watched our children grow. Fascia begins to blush slightly, but hides it by getting up and going into her closet for her jacket. "My you must have hit it big to be taking me out to that fancy place again" she said with a laugh under her tongue.

"Hey, only the best for MY friends," he said with a grin. "Besides, I thought you might be starving. . .you spaced out there for a second."

"Heh, you noticed"

"Yeah. It was either the offer of dinner or the whip in the closet, and seeing as your trance broke before I could find it, I thought I'd be the gentleman and offer the dinner first."

"Mr. Funny tonight, eh?"

"You betcha. Let's go," said Henry while hooking his arm for Fascia to take. She took the hint, grabbed his arm, and both of them went out the door.

The diner is an old rusting silver railroad car attached to a trailer. It seats about twenty people (plus staff), is always packed, always noisy, and always a good place for a fun time. Most of the lighting was track lighting, save one chandelier in the direct center of the diner. The table seemed to be made of a sturdy aluminum/poly-plastic blend.

"These tables match the food," said Henry smiling.

The diner is the only place open to eat twenty-four hours a day though, and the crowd in those early morning hours always intrigued Henry and Fascia.

"See that guy who just came through the door," Henry asked. "He's an ex-con looking for his first 'free' meal."

"Uh-huh," Fascia muttered, "How are you going to justify that one?" she laughs a bit having taken a look at the brawny 5' 10" figure that seemed as wide as tall in a faded blue work shirt with worn jeans to match and a white name tag stitched onto it written on in illegible black marker.

"Oh my god. . .there! Look there!" Henry hides his face behind the menu he has memorized by heart (and appetite) as he points to the back of the bulky man's shaved head.

She turns around. “Holy shit,” she cries, and quickly buries her face behind a menu. She whispers to Henry, "how on Earth did you see that prison tattoo when it wasn't facing us?"

Henry looks out from the side of his menu in silence until Fascia did the same, and then said “mirrored ceilings,” pointing as he winked and smiled, "they're not just for lovers anymore.”

- - - - - -

Fascia opens her eyes into the night contained within the windshield of her car, then looks into the rear-view mirror. She turns the key in the ignition. The radio starts in on an almost finished ballad, and the car lights up the cemetery parking lot as she backs up and gets on the road toward home. It was a long ten minute drive full of flooding memories of a man she lost contact with a good forty years ago.

- - - - - -

"Fascia," Henry asked, taking her hand in his own, "we've been friends a long time, and, whew is it hot in here? Umm, what I mean is, over the last year or so, I've been thinking of you a lot."

"I know," Fascia interrupted, "I've been thinking of you too. That summer job at sea was so lonely without you and your jokes, I couldn’t wait to get back and see you.”

"Yeah, heh, that too.”

"Too?"

"Too. See, I've got to thinking, there's nobody I’d rather spend my time with than you.”

Fascia started to say something when Henry cut her off.

"Wait," he said, "hear me out. We always have fun together, laughing, talking, and just being around each other right? Well, I wanted to know if you have any other feelings for me. . .feelings which I know I have for you.”

"Like what type of feelings," Fascia said feeling her lips curl into an irrepressible smile.

"Love type feelings.”

"Oh. . .”

Taking note of the serious tone of Henry's voice and his shaking palms, she sits down silently on the edge of her bed. Henry paces about the room watching her every breath in preparation for the inevitable turn-down.

He actually said it. . .now what? It's all on me. I don't want this to ruin our friendship, but I so want to explore him!

Fascia stands up and Henry turns around quickly to face her, watching as she slowly walks towards him.

"So?”

"I'l1 talk in a couple of minutes. I'm rather speechless at the moment." Fascia wrapped her arms around him in a warm, friendly embrace.

Fearing the worst, Henry asks to clarify the situation, "speechless good or speechless bad?"

"Speechless good."

- - - - - -

The driveway welcomed Fascia's car with the warm glow of the garage light, veiled and muted by moth wings. There were no lights on inside the house, nor would there be until Fascia's hands flicked the switches. Tears still poured down her face, and her legs seemed like concrete in the car.

- - - - - -

Henry wiped tears from her cheeks with his always gentle hands. "Don't cry Fascia," he pleaded, "I understand. You're graduating in a year, and I've got other things on my mind. I knew you were unhappy for some reason, and even though you never told me why, I knew it was him. I don't want to seem cold, but I agree that we need to stop dating. You need him, and I need a little space. It really is ok."

"Why do you have to be so damned understanding?"

"Just luck I guess," said Henry while managing a smile through his quivering chin and watering eyes.

"I wasn't lying when I said 'I love you'.”

"I know," he said. "Neither was I, but even though this part of us has ended, I can't lose your friendship. . .we're too good together in that way to ever stop.”

- - - - - -

Fascia creaked open her car door and walked to the front of her house, walked in, and turned on the hall light. The walls were an off-white that absorbed the light. The little furniture that was there, was dark wood which set upon a wooden foyer, intricate in design. Fascia placed her keys on a nearby table cluttered with bills, then walked over to her couch and laid down. She took the envelope out of her bag and stared at it again.

- - - - - -

"Take this," said Henry, "and please don't open it. . .ever.”

“Why," asked Fascia in a strong inquisitive tone.

"Because I'm weird. Because I had to give this to you. Because I trust you. I'm leaving for my job in Monterey tomorrow, and I wanted you to have this." Henry took Fascia's hands in his, then hugged her for five minutes. "God I'm going to miss you. Good luck with your editing job up in New York, and you better keep in touch."

Fascia started to cry when she saw Henry's quivering chin. "You better too."

"Too?"

"Too," she said softly still wrapped in his comforting arms.

- - - - - -

As if an alarm had sounded, Fascia was startled by the sound of the phone ringing. Having noticed it in mid ring, she knew she'd been daydreaming. She answers it, only to find a dial tone on the other end. Reluctantly. Fascia replaces the receiver on the phone.

- - - - - -

The phone rang in his Seattle apartment. It was a clear connection with a crisp ring of hope. Answer, answer, please answer.

"Hello?"

"Henry?"

"The one and onl. . .Fascia?"

"No silly, I'm Fascia.”

Henry laughed and said "My god, how the hell are you?"

“I'm fine. I'm getting married!"

"Married? That's great! I'm waiting.”

“Waiting? For what?"

“Am I really going to have to invite myself?"

They talked for hours catching up on jobs, lovers, and lives, then hang up.

Two months later, a forty year old man in a tuxedo popped through the door of the reception to a wedding and demands a dance with the lovely Mrs. Fascia Jones.

"You came," she said gasping. "You're bald," she laughed.

"All the better to reflect you with," he said returning her smile as they twirled across the dance floor talking like old times. "Did you ever open that letter," asked Henry as his smile melted into a poker face.

"Oh! Hold on." Fascia ran to the table where she left her pocketbook, and ran back with it slung over her shoulder. She pulled out the grainy, white envelope and showed it to Henry. "This one?"

"Still unopened I see. Well, I'm impressed," he said, the smile returning to his lips.

"So I can open it now?"

"Excuse me. Is this the immortal Henry," asked Donnell Jones.

"Yes it is! Henry, this is my husband, Donnell. Donnell . . . Henry."

"Well, I do hate to interrupt you two, but Fascia and I have a flight to catch. We have a rather big night ahead of us.”

"Of course," said Henry stepping back a little and smiling at Fascia.

She hugged Henry and added, "don't lose touch this time, huh?"

"I won't. You don't either."

- - - - - -

Fascia looked to the mantle on the fireplace to glimpse pictures of her husband and three children. One picture was of the entire family at the beach.

Donnell was buried in the sand at the mercy of two children, while she sat back laughing. Another picture was one of her wedding. Everyone in it wore bright smiles and elegant attire. A third picture was of herself nursing the third born in the hospital when he was born. One in a cracked frame showed Donnell and the kids moving into their new house in Preston, Washington. There were others: miscellaneous baby pictures, school pictures, her children's wedding pictures. But hidden behind all of them was a picture of Henry and Fascia in a diner, laughing and smiling just like the people in her wedding picture.

- - - - - -

Forty years after her marriage ceremony, three years after her husband's death, a letter was sent to Fascia Jones from an attorney in Seattle. It read: "On the tenth day of June, 1993, Henry James died of heart failure. He left instructions that upon his death, one Fascia Jones should be contacted and given the date and site of the funeral, herein enclosed."

Not a soul was there beside her and the priest. There were flowers with cards from many people, but they were all typed like forms from a typewriter, and not one of them was signed. By the time they laid Henry's casket in the ground, the sun had begun to set, and the priest, having said his last words, was already pacing back to his car.

- - - - - -

Fascia rubbed her fingers over the face of the envelope in her hands. It was a plain envelope, yellowed now with the years, but it had once shined a brilliant white. It read "To Facia Moore." Once again, she held it up to her living room chandelier, and once again the same blue lines became visible. She reached for the drawer beside the couch to retrieve a letter opener, felt a sudden pain in her chest, and laid down. In her dream, Henry's arms stretched out for her own, and gripped them tightly. She felt a pair of lips on her hand, and then ascended feeling light-headed and dizzy. Hello Henry. I told you I wouldn't lose touch.