Two Letters Forty Years Later

Two Letters 40 Years Later

By Cindy Trost

Inspired by “A Story About the Body”

by Robert Hass

           The infatuation between a young artist nicknamed The Dead Bee and a beautiful older woman, now known as Rose Petal, came to a quiet end when he found a bowl of dead bees covered with carefully arranged rose petals on his porch the morning after he withdrew his sexual interest upon learning about her double mastectomy.

Forty years later, a postman delivers an envelope addressed to Rose Petal. The letter reads--

Sweet Rose Petal,

    It has been many years since our last communication. I apologize for the breach of privacy; however, a mutual friend informed me that you are gravely ill. I am writing to apologize for my shameful behavior so many years ago and ask your forgiveness, though I do not deserve it. 

    My youth made me arrogant and insensitive to how life can affect the body. I am now your age when our chemistry was intense and sensual. I look in the mirror and see that time has not been kind to me. I am confident that were the roles reversed, and you saw me today, I would not be so fortunate as to have earned so much as a passing glance from your beautiful eyes. 

    I say this not to receive your pity, but I, too, am ill and not long for this world. With the time I have left, I desire to make amends for the pain I have caused those whose light shone brighter and whose heart was more compassionate and wiser than mine. 

    May your remaining days be peaceful and pain-free. God willing, we will meet again, and if forgiven, you will honor me with the opportunity to hold your hand and walk through eternity with you in the Silver City. 

Again, with all my heart and last breath, I say to you, dear Rose Petal, I am sorry. 

Always yours,

Dead Bee

***

      A month later, a postman delivers an envelope to Mr. Dead Bee. The letter reads--

Dear Mr. Bee,

      Your letter to my great-grandmother was an unexpected surprise in her final days. I hope I have reached you before you've made your journey to the Silver City.  Age stole from Nana-Rose’s eyes the ability to read your letter herself, so I read it to her. Illness stole from Nana-Rose’s hands the ability to personally write you back. My hand now serves as her hand. Below are the words she spoke to me as if she was speaking to you.  

Sweet Bee, 

      Your letter reveals a sad song of guilt that has played in the background of your life since that painful day. And this distresses me greatly.

I was a young artist long ago like you were that evening. I should have understood back then that you would not be able to see beyond the beauty of my face. No twenty-year-old artist has experienced enough life to see the beauty and poetry in painting a bowl of rotted fruit.

I confess the infatuation between us birthed a romantic fantasy in which I fooled myself into believing a night with you would make me see my own nakedness beautiful again. When you turned away, repulsed at the mere thought of my blighted body, I wanted to return the favor of your cruelty. In vengeance, I left the bowl of rose petals and dead bees. Sadly, once given breath, vengeance has a life of its own. You were cruel to me just one evening; I have been cruel to you for a lifetime by withholding my forgiveness. Your only crime was being young, handsome, and naive.  

      Beautiful Bee cast away your guilt at once; you have been forgiven and absolved. This dying old woman now asks for forgiveness for the bitter notes I have played in your life symphony.  

      If it is true that we are given new bodies in the life ever after, then take comfort in knowing I will await your arrival in the Silver City, and we will bask in true beauty for all eternity.

Soon to be in full bloom at Heaven’s Gate,

Rose Petal

***

That evening, Mr. Bee crawled into bed with Rose Petal's letter. He kissed it goodnight. And with his tremor-plagued hand, he lays the letter on the empty space beside him, patting it gently as if to say goodnight. His breathing slows, and his mind comes alive with images of the night they never had.

In a candle-lit room, he watches her undress, her back to him; he soaks in the curve of her spine, following it from her neck, moist with perspiration as her body gives in to arousal. 

His eyes move to her slender waist. He admires her deliciously full and round derriere, a youthful illusion cast by the dancing light. Fully naked, Rose Petal removes a single hairpin, sending her soft, long chestnut curls cascading down her back. Her hands reach behind her head and part the hair, bringing it to the front, covering the place where her breasts used to be. She turns around, facing him. Her beauty is breathtaking. In this light, at this moment, with her luscious locks resting on her chest like Lady Godiva, his desire for her unleashes. Tearing off his clothes, he rushes to her, and their passion explodes. He lays her on the floor and looks into her eyes, teeming with tears of joy and uncertainty. Lowering himself on her, he kisses each eye and says, "You are beautiful." And they begin to make love.

As the morning sun peeks through Bees' bedroom curtains, his hand is still lying on Rose's letter; his fingertips rest upon her last words to him, "If it is true that we are given new bodies in the life ever after, then take comfort in knowing I will await your arrival in the Silver City, and we will bask in true beauty for all eternity. "

Bees' tremor is gone, and his breathing has stopped. The light of the breaking day casts shadows upon Bee, softening and hiding the rough edges etched upon his skin by illness and time, creating the illusion that a bit of youth has returned to his lifeless body.