A Letter From Charlie

March 9, 2009
By Anonymous

A Letter From Charlie


How long has it been? Five years? Leaving you when we were so in love was something I never dreamt would have happened. Although you and I were only 18, it really upset me when I had to leave you. I never stop thinking about the days we spent walking through the forest, picnicking in the meadows under our favorite willow tree, and skinny-dipping in the creek when we were only children. It is a lot harder to keep in touch without being able to call. I am so sorry it has taken me this long to write to you. So many things have happened in the last five years and I cannot wait to tell you about them. Although it has been fun, I have never stopped thinking about you. There is nothing I want more than to come home to you. A lot of the reason why it is so hard to come home is because of my parents. Living with them for five more years after the move was a nightmare, but I finally moved out of their terrible house. The atmosphere they created was not very heart warming.

My father started to become angry about everything. He would sloppily pull himself off of his living room chair and punch holes in the wall because the 49ers were losing all of their games. Because of him, rugs were stained with beer and chicken grease and the strong aroma of burnt-out cigars lingered throughout the house. I always ended up cleaning his mess, because he would pass out every night on that smelly, old chair. When he was not already passed out, he would yell at me and call me a jackass for being out late. He said it reminded him of when you and I used to take our walks in the forest; the nights I snuck out to see you. He called it past my bedtime, since we were only ten. Now I am 23, and he still considers it 'past my bedtime.' Hopefully he never finds out that I sent you this letter. If he ever does, I might as well consider myself a dead man. I still have trouble understanding why he thought you were a bad influence. You might have been the one yelling for me outside of my bedroom window, but I snuck out on my own. I am just glad to have left that crazy man's house.

Although I spent each day hoping to God that I would be sent a better father, at least somebody in the house was on demand. My mother spent most of her time self-loathing. For some reason she will not stop blaming herself for how our family turned out. She believes it is her own fault that my father is a total mental psycho, and I am the world's worst troublemaker. On top of that, she still believes she does not make enough money to support her crazed family. I never really understood her, considering she worked two jobs. She was never around much. The only time I ever got to see my mother was around dinner. She would come home from her day job to make my father and me something to fill our stomachs, feed herself, and then would head back out to work the graveyard shift at a small caf' down the street. If my mother did not hate herself so much, we might have somewhat of a stable family. I was usually the one cleaning up after her as well as my father; sweeping the floors, doing the dishes, doing the laundry. Since I didn't get paid a penny from my parents, lucky for me I saved up enough from playing music and entertaining at local fairs.

A couple of the neighbors and I had put together a small band. It did and still can get very time consuming, but it puts me in a happier place. Although I have moved out of my parents' house and into my own, I still live close enough to be a part of the band. We are constantly playing at county fairs and carnivals to entertain the weekend crowds. Good thing the four of us guys are somewhat good looking. At least the girls will occasionally throw down some 20's or 50's into our cases every once in a while. Surprisingly, playing music and having fun pays better than a normal job. On average, our band makes 300 dollars a piece each time we perform. I am so thankful to have the band in my life. There isn't much to do around here, and they're the only people I can truly call my friends. I see them walking down the road every now and then, tossing a football, but it is hard for me to build up enough courage to include myself. I just accept the time I have with them practicing and performing. See as a child, I didn't need anybody else because I had you. I didn't need anyone else because my father wasn't insane and could take me out to play catch. Times are different now. Now, when I need someone more than ever, there is nobody here. I can only depend on the band for love and support. Every once in a while I'll call them up to have a small get together, just to talk and eat. I wonder why things had to happen the way they have, and my mind continues to wander.

Someday I will be back for you. The love we had and still have is still there; I know it is. I listen to your song almost every day. Just like you said yourself in the chorus, 'promises we made when we'd go walking.' Well, I am making you a promise now. I am ready to come home to you. The small house that I had moved into is up for sale, and I am hoping it will sell soon. Please write back. I have been dying to hear from you. I hope it is not too late for us. I am coming home for you Miranda. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Hang in there, I'm comin' home.


Word Count: 1,005

The author's comments:
This piece is about the character, Charlie, from the song "Me and Charlie Talking" by Miranda Lambert. It is his side of the story.

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