The Overdue Delivery

It was a hot August evening. It was about two weeks before school would start back. I was sitting in the grass in my front yard, waiting for Jill. Jill and I had been going together since the start of freshman year. Where I lived, kids didn’t say they were boyfriend and girlfriend-they said they were “going together”.

Jill and I lived on a dirt road several miles outside of town. It was called Possum Creek Road. Every night during summer, around 6 p.m., Jill would take a walk down to the creek. She would stop by my place and I would walk with her. It was about a three mile walk.

I didn’t wait long that evening. She came walking down the road. Jill was a really pretty girl. She was only an inch or two shorter than me- she didn’t have to stand on her tiptoes so give me a kiss. She was slender and had long, silky brown hair that came down below her shoulders with big brown eyes and a smile that would stop traffic(if there had been any traffic out where we lived). As usual, she was wearing a pair of denim bib overall shorts, a T shirt, and she was going barefoot. On the last day of school, riding home on the bus, she had taken off her shoes and socks and announced, “I ain’t putting these on until school starts back!” As far as I know, she had been barefoot since. I was an average looking guy with curly brown hair that my Baptist parents made sure styed cut short. I was wearing a pair of jeans, a tank top and Chuck Taylors.

I stood up and waved at my parents. They were on a glider on the front porch. Dad was reading the newspaper and Mom was shelling peas. Then I walked down to the road and took Jill’s hand. Her hand was tiny and soft. She always smelled like Ivory soap. To this day, my heart beats faster when I smell soap.

AS we began walking, the wailing of a harmonica playing “My Old Kentucky Home” came wafting through the air.

“ Duffy’s getting pretty good on that thing,” Jill said.

“We oughta stop by and say “hi” to him. He always likes to see you,” I told her.

Duffy Wayne was my neighbor. He and his parents lived in the next house down the road. Duffy had special needs. I know that he had Cerebral Palsy and Down’s Syndrome. That was probably only a few of the things that he dealt with. His father had bought him a harmonica for his most recent birthday and I would hear him playing almost every day.

Sure enough, he was sitting in his wheelchair on the front porch of his house. We walked onto the porch just as he was finishing up the song. He laid the harmonica on his lap and smiled broadly at us. We both applauded his playing. He blew a kiss. The smile and the kiss were directed more at Jill than me and that didn’t make me jealous for some reason.

“Really good, Duffy,” Jill told him. “Do you know any country songs? Maybe some Hank Williams?”

Duffy smiled and nodded. He played “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” and it was beautiful. When he finished, we applauded again. He smiled and blew another kiss. Jill kissed the tips of her index and middle fingers, then pressed her fingers to Duffy’s forehead. Duffy blushed and a huge grin spread across his round face. Again, this didn’t make me jealous. It only made me love Jill more.

“We’re taking a walk, Duffy,” I told him. ”We’ll see you later. You ready for school to start back?”

He shook his head. “Nah, wanna stay home!”

I reached out and shook his hand.

“I’m with you, buddy!” I said and he laughed.

I took Jill’s hand and we walked back to the dirt road. As we walked away, Jill waved and Duffy blew another kiss in her direction.

“I’m worried,” I said.

“About Duffy?” Jill replied. “Is he getting worse or something?”

“No, I think that he’s gonna steal you from me!”

She playfully punched my shoulder.

“Silly boy!” she said.

I was glad that she had a sense of humor.

We walked to the creek. Along the way, we talked about the upcoming school year. I had tried out for the football team the previous two years and hadn’t made the final cut either time. I had talked to my folks and decided that I wouldn’t try out this year. I really needd to concentrate on my classes and playing a sport would only be a distraction. Jill was worried. Algebra and Geometry had been tough for her. Trig might be too much for her. I tried to say something encouraging. I told her that she was smarter than she thought that she was. My older brother Richie had made A’s in Trig and she was smarter than he was! My little pep talk seemed to make her feel better and I was glad.

We got to the creek bank.

“Hey, let’s wade!” she said. She walked down the bank and stepped into the water.

I sat on the bank and began to untie my shoelaces.

“Let me get barefoot,” I told her. “Some of us are civilized and wear shoes you know!”

She splashed water my way in response.

As soon as I was barefoot, I made my way into the water. I took her hands and we waded in the ankle deep water.

She saw the sheet of paper first.

A light breeze was blowing and it was carrying a sheet of yellowed notebook paper toward us. She seemed really fascinated by this, she pulled her hand out of mine, and ran through the water until she could snatch the paper out of the air. Once she had possession of the paper, She stood in the creek and stared at the paper. I sloshed my way to her. When I was by her side. I realized that there was handwriting on the paper. The entire front of the paper was almost filled with blue ink.

“What is it? Somebody’s old meatloaf recipe?” I asked, laughing.

“No, it’s a letter, and it’s interesting!” she said. She was taking this more seriously than I was. I decided to stop being a smart aleck. Most guys that I knew didn’t have girlfriends like Jill, so I really didn’t want to risk making her angry.

She walked back to the bank and I followed. We both wiped our feet on the grass to dry them. When my feet were reasonably dried, I sat down on the bank and began putting my socks and shoes on.

“When you get your shoes on and are civilized, I’ll let you read this thing,” she said teasingly.

I finished tying my shoes and she handed me the paper.

The letter read:

D,

I hope you are doing ok, baby. I have been doing pretty well, I guess. I’m writing this and asking Diego to bring it to you. His English is getting better, but I’m still not sure how much he understands. If you’re reading this, I suppose he got it to you. I sure do hope so.

Baby, I miss you so much that it hurts. Grandma and Grandpa still don’t like it that you ain’t Pentecostal like we are. I tell that you love God and you love me so what does it matter? That just makes them even madder.

I mean it, my chest hurts when I think about you. I can’t sleep at night and I have almost quit eating. I’ve got to figure something out so we can be together. Or maybe you can. I’m at wit’s end here.

If you have any idea how we can have some time together, send a message back with Diego. I am so desperate for you, my baby!

Love you so much!

E

“Wow!”

It was all that I could think to say.

“It’s like Romeo and Juliet or something!” Jill said as I handed the letter back to her.

“Yeah, it sure is!”

“I wonder how long ago it was written?” Jill said.

Well, the paper is turning yellow, honey,” I responded. “Has to be from a long time ago.”

“You know what, I just thought of something,” Jill said. “Your parents grew up right here. They had to know everybody who lived around here for the last forty years or so.”

“Yeah, good point,” I said. “They might figure out who these two are. Probably even knew Diego.”

We walked back to the house. Usually, I would kiss Jill and she would go home. Today, she and I walked hand and hand up to the front porch. Dad and Mom were still there. Mom had finished shelling peas. Dad had finished his paper. They were still sitting on the glider, but now, they were holding hands.

“Hey, kids, how was your walk?” Dad asked.

“Good,” I said. “Jill found something and she thought you might be able to tell us something about it.”

Jill had folded the sheet of paper up and stuck it in the pocket of her overall shorts. She pulled it out and handed it to Mom.

Mom unfolded the paper. She took one look at the letter and tears filled her eyes. She stared at the paper for a minute, then handed it to my father.

“This is for you,” she said. Her voice sounded like she was choking.

Dad read the letter slowly. He shook his head as he read and he looked like he was on the verge of tears, too.

Then, all of a sudden, I realized what was happening.

“D is for David!” I blurted out. “E is for Elizabeth! My great grandparents raised Mom and they were Pentecostal! Dad was raised Baptist! This is a letter that Mom wrote Dad, Jill!”

Mom nodded. The tears were flowing freely now.

“We were about a year older than you two are now.”

“Who the heck was Diego?” I asked. “I never heard you mention him.”

“He was her grandparents’ hired hand. He came up from Mexico and worked their farm every summer. Poor guy. Your great grandpa accused him of having eyes for your mother and ran him off the summer that I was 17. He was wrong. I had taken Spanish in high school that year and knew enough to understand Diego. He said he had a wife and two kids back home and had no interest in Elizabeth.”

“Yes,” Mom said. “he was a perfect gentleman. Grandpa pulled a shotgun on him and he ran off. I guess he headed back to Mexico!”

“After that,” Dad explained, “Your mother’s grandpa decided that I wasn’t so bad and allowed us to see one another again. We got married right out of high school.”

“Diego was a good man, but he wasn’t a very reliable delivery boy!”

Dad waved the letter.

“Yep, this delivery is about 22 years overdue, but I finally got it, thanks to my son and his sweet little barefoot girlfriend!”

I laughed and gave Jill a big kiss.