“Jesus. Jesus Christ,” I whispered to myself, “that was not what I expected.”
I put the little sheet of paper down on my well-worn Crate & Barrel desktop. The letter was type written with a raised logo across the masthead and now featured some newly formed bumps scattered across the bottom of the page. I flattened it out on the desk, gently smoothing it with the palms of my hands.
I sat still and reread it. This time more slowly as I searched for, and discovered, the unwritten words and emotions squeezed between typed words. I got the feeling this was not the sort of thing he wrote quickly. He had crafted these words with care and tied his note to the shaft of time’s arrow; the sharp end of which was dipped in the open heart of a man standing on the doorstep of winter. A man eager to take aim with his words, he pulled back and released an arrow laden with unvarnished thoughts, arcing it across time. It hit its mark, passing through me and landing on my desk. I wiped my eyes.
I finished, lingering with a finger on his proud signature. From my seat at the desk I craned my neck upwards and stared at the clock as it drummed away seconds in slow motion.
DJ came into the room, “Hey. What’s up?”
I nodded.
“What’s a matter, dad? Everything OK?”
I pulled my sleeve across my eyes, “Yeah. Yeah, DJ. I’m fine. I just got, I got a pretty nice letter from a friend of my dad’s. You, you remember when we went the World Series game against Colorado and…”
He jumped in, rattling off a staccato response, “Oh man, do I! Of course I remember. We crushed them! Crushed them! 13 to one, man. 13 to one! And, remember how Pedroia led off with a homer over the Green Monster? Boom! Game over. And then, and then, remember even before the game, when the jets flew over us in the bleachers. You could see the blue flames, man! It was like, you could feel them above us. And ‘Bleacher Guy’? Remember the guy who kept chanting at everything that happened around us. Whad’he call that guy next to us with the green visor? Oh yeah, how could I forget, Visor Guy!”
He started pumping his arms up and down, mimicking the words of our chanter, “’Visor Guy! Visor Guy! Visor Guy!’ He was crazy. And, who was, who was that pitching?”
He didn’t wait for my answer, “Oh yeah, Beckett. It was Beckett. And he struck out the side in the first. Man, that was so cool. So cool. How could I forget that, huh?”
Caught up in his excitement, I jumped in, “And the ‘K’ Men? Remember those guys holding up all the ‘K’s behind us; one for each Beckett strikeout? Now they were crazy. And I remember after Pedroia hit his homer you grabbed my arm and said, “This could be the best night of my life!” I think I probably remember every detail about that game but that’s the part I remember most.”
“Yeah, that was awesome, dad. Awesome.”
“And well, remember how I told you how I couldn’t help but get you and Gee the tickets for the Series, even though they were too expensive for us? Remember I told you about the guy that, gosh in 1973, gave me and my brother tickets to the Mets – A’s World Series when I was a kid?”
“Oh, yeah, your dad’s buddy. I remember. The guy you bought the hat for. How long did it take you to find that thing? You couldn’t decide, remember?”
“Yeah, I guess I wanted just the right one. Well, when I sent him the hat I wrote a letter too, thanking him for providing me with one of my most wonderful childhood memories and for planting the seed for the game we went to, which just so happened, turned out to be one of the best nights of my adult life, with you and Gee.”
He rolled his eyes, “Kinda corny, dad; kinda corny. Well, did he get it? Did he email you or write you back or something?”
“Yeah, he wrote me back and he, well, he told me some nice stuff about my dad I didn’t know about.”
I looked up at the clock. Had it stopped? “Didn’t know. And I, well, I’m kinda blow away by how he said it.”
“Whad’he say?”
“It’s in this little letter, here.” I smoothed my hands once more over the slip of paper, still trying to flatten out the little circles that had bubbled up when I read it the first time. “All packed into a half sheet of paper. You want to read it? It’s kinda personal.”
“Sure, dad. Wait, though. What’d you say to him? Can I see what you wrote? You know: what you said to him?”
“Yeah, wait, I typed it up in Word. Let me find it.”
I talked as I sat there searching through My Documents, “And just think. All I did was put pen to paper, so to speak, and write him a letter. And, and what do I get in return? Something from probably way deep inside him. It’s like, I just wrote this letter and in return he gave me something better than words; something I suspect was neatly folded up and tucked away long ago, just waiting for the chance to be launched across time. Ah-ha, yes! Here it is. Here you go, buddy. Go ahead and read it.”
November 18, 2007
Beasley Kinkade
Boston, Massachusetts
Mr. Richard Joseph O’Toole
c/o The TriState Heavy Construction Company
9225 Rockaway Beach Boulevard
Queens, NY 11693
Dear Mr. O’Toole,
At the risk of jarring your memory, in October of 1973 you were unbelievably generous to me and my brother, KJ, when you provided my father, Dick, with tickets to the Mets A’s World Series. After 30+ years, your kindness recently influenced an evening with my two children, Gee and DJ, and I thought I would share a bit of the resulting pleasure with you.
My father worked long hours when we were young; however he often found the time to bring us to scores of professional games many of which you were kind enough to provide tickets. As a result of such fond memories with my dad, I now take my two children to Sox and Celtics games on a regular basis. It is time well spent.
This season, as the Sox approached the playoffs, I often found myself smiling along with the vivid memories of the 1973 Mets Reds NLCS (in which your generosity allowed us to witness poor Bud Harrelson get whooped by Pete Rose at second base) and the Mets A’s World Series Game (in which we saw the Mets win). The World Series memory is still a highlight of my early years. I think of the game often and, as a result, could not help but persuade myself (and my wife) to grab tickets for Game One of this year’s Sox Rockies World Series.
As was the case with me in 1973, my kids were thunderstruck at the excitement and electricity associated with a World Series game. The 13-1 Sox victory capped a beautiful night and, on this night I was reminded of your generosity. Your kindness began the process which led to a breathtaking evening with my children – for without your gift in 1973 I would not have realized what a wonderful evening awaited my children at Fenway Park. I told my kids the story of your generosity and how it led to their attending the World Series game and we hope you will accept the enclosed as a symbol of our appreciation and fondest memories.
Thank you,
Beasley Kinkade
I shrugged, “Not my best writing but, ya know, I just wanted to let him know how much he, well, how much his kindness from so long ago meant and, well, basically planted the seed for that awesome night we had at Fenway last month.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Did what hurt, DJ?”
“You know, the ah, the a letter. When I came in you were like sad or something. Like, what it said hurt you.”
“Come here.” I pulled him into a hug.
After first resisting DJ rested his head on my shoulder. One, two three seconds slowly clicked away on the clock above us as I held him close. By the clock’s fourth click he grew restless, fidgeted and pulled back.
I smiled and answered, “It didn’t hurt. In fact it felt pretty good. Kinda like the beginning of that hug. You know, before you got bored of me and pulled away like a little tough guy. Kinda like a warm feeling delivered from the past, traveling through time and, as if perfectly aimed, it landed right here in this room with us.”
He looked up at the clock now clicking away at normal speed, “When’s karate?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, “Do I have time for… hey, will you help me with something before karate?”
“Yeah, sure. We have plenty of time; like an hour or so before we have to head out. Why, what do you want to do?”
He cocked his left fist in front of his face, holding an imaginary bow. He took aim, tilting his head to the side and tried his best to close one eye. Settling on a target, he pulled back and released an invisible arrow, before breaking into a smile, “Write someone a letter.”
