The Letter

It's not like Lisa and I belonged to the Yada Yah Sisterhood Society back in those days. She was a rad 18-year old red head, hung up on karma and liking the Rolling Stones. I, on the other hand, wasn't a true blonde without the hair coloring, turning 19-years old soon and living in a college dorm.

If I recall right, it was 1984, and Ronald Reagan was running the country as best he could. Lisa was all for the guy and I wasn't into politics. Our grandpa did look a lot like the man though and he, too, was 100% Republican.

Like I say, Lisa and I weren't super close and our personalities were as opposite as night and day. We were simply making some sort of genuine effort to get to know each other. It's what Mama wanted and Mama was gone.

"So," my sister said, as I pulled my Datsun B-52 in her driveway and watched her open the passenger door and hop in for a ride. "It's Saturday and Jimmy is at work so we've got all day, my friend. What do you want to do?"

"Let's go to the junk stores?"

"Jackie, you've got to be kidding me. Are you serious?

"What's wrong with THAT? One mans trash is another man's treasure, right?"

First off, we lived in Phoenix, Arizona and it was summer time and, in second place, I hit the junk stores every weekend, come high or hell weather. I suppose that 112 degrees fits into the latter category. Even so, my sky blue Datsun had an air conditioner so I didn't understand what the problem was.

Even Lisa's 22-year old boyfriend, Jimmy Barnett, thought it was a good idea for his girl and her sister to share some quality time together. Maybe we could have lunch at the fast food restaurant he worked at after we shopped a little. Sis seemed to perk up a bit when I suggested the idea and she caved in.

Lisa scream sang along with my car radio playing the song "Lying Eyes" by The Eagles and I drove around looking for the best junk store in the city.

"Maybe I can find Jimmy a really cool leather coat in one of these stores." She said, pulling her massive thick red hair into a ponytail and looking at me with those crazy blue eyes of hers, "I'd like to find one like the one Jack wore in 'Cuckoo's Nest.' That movie was totally rad. I've seen it ten times."

"A coat? In Phoenix? I'll tell you who's cuckoo, sis."

"Leather coats are boss on a man."

"Whatever."

We parked in front of the Salvation Army and walked in, acting nonchalant and savvy-like, as Lisa took off down one aisle and I slow strolled down another. I found an ocean front painting I liked and Lisa found tumblers.

"Tumblers? I wouldn't buy someone else's dirty plastic tumblers in a million years." I said.

"Let's go look at the coats." Lisa squealed in delight. "Jimmy is going to totally freak out if I find one that fits him right."

As it happened, we had to hit four other junk stores and do some hunting for Jimmy's very cool jacket to surface. Lisa found it in a used store that was simply called "Thrift Goods" and paid $50.00 for it. If it were me, I would have walked right on by it. I'm not Lisa though. Lisa is a karma believer and she said the coat sent her good vibes.

It wasn't until we got back to her Sunny side apartment that Lisa even stuck her hands in the pockets. The leather coat had fur lined pockets on both sides and they were deep. Deep like cooking fried chicken in a bucket full of grease is. Let's face it. My sister paid fifty bucks for one very greasy looking coat.

Lisa was deep and her karma vibes were coming on strong. She felt something inside the pocket of the coat and pulled it out. "Well, I'll be g.d." She said, "it's a sealed letter and there's something in it."

"G.D.?" I asked, "You know, I don't mind if you cuss in front of me, my dear."

"You're too spooky to cuss around."

"What's in the envelope, sis?"

We proceeded to read a three page letter that a man named "Lenny" wrote to his 7-year old daughter in 1979. Apparently, the man was dying of something and he was telling his little girl that he loved her.

"Jackie, we have to try to find that little girl and make sure she gets this letter." Lisa said, as I saw a tear fall from her eye and my own eyes welled up. I agreed. The man was telling his daughter that he was sorry for walking out on her life several years ago. He wanted her to know that never stopped loving her and had to leave.

"I've been very ill for some time and it's gotten worse," Lenny wrote in the letter, "You never had much of a dad in me anyway and I didn't want you to know. You were only 4-years old when your mother and I divorced. She remarried and your step father is a good man."

Yet, Lenny loved his little girl and he always wanted the best for her. "Please have a happy life, Denise. Be a good girl for your mother and step-father. I love you with all of my heart. With a million hugs and ten thousand million prayers from your Dad."

The address on the letter had a San Diego, California address on it. A stamp was on the envelope and Lenny never got around to mailing it. We had to find out if Denise Zaccannni still lived in that city and we had to do it fast. With a name like Zaccanni, it wouldn't be hard to do.

Denise Zaccanni was a 12-year old little girl now and she had a right to know what her father had to say. Even though Denise's mother was remarried with another name, Lenny's brother lived in the city and Lisa dialed the number.

Lenny died six months ago and, yes, it would be greatly appreciated if we could mail the letter to the brother as soon as possible. Danny would make sure that Denise read the letter right away.

We never did find out what Denise thought of the letter. We could only hope that her father's words comforted her and that she believed he loved her.