The Letter

By: Candy-Ann Little

The sun bounced off the silver box, almost blinding Amanda. She shielded her eyes with one hand and opened the mailbox with the other. After retrieving the mail and sifting through the bills and assortment of junk, silently laughing at the irony of the address as she still thought Intercourse was an unexpected name for an Amish town, even after living here for over a year.
Her hand froze in mid air at the same time her heart stopped. The hand written letter had the correct address but the name Chyna-Blue pounded her like pistons when a car starts. Amanda instantly knew it came from New York even though there was no return address. She didn’t have to read the letter to know who sent it, or what it said. The only thought coursing through her numb body was how did he find me again?
The summer sun lost its warmth making her shiver. Her hand trembled and she almost dropped the letter. She tried to moisten her mouth but the lubrication glands had dried up. Her heart blew up the way engines do when they run out of oil.
Finally pulling herself together enough to put one foot in front of the other, Amanda made the short distance to the house although it felt longer than the Indy five hundred. Her life spun out of control, feeling hard to steer like a car without power steering fluid. She’d worked hard navigating her life down a new path. Now, with one letter it crashed off course.
“It’s not fair!” she screamed, slamming the mail on the table. “I’ve worked too hard to let my life be ruined now.” She sank into a chair and proceeded to cry. Why? Why now? She only had two more weeks until her wedding day. Couldn’t he have waited until after the ceremony? Of course it would be too late by then. He wanted to destroy her happiness. Destroy her self esteem. Destroy her life.
She’d never return him or her old life once she married. The marriage certificate would signify the start of a new life for her, and the death of their old relationship, if that’s what you wanted to call it. Relationships usually require more than just sex.
The phone rang, startling Amanda out of her reverie. Wiping the tears away and pretending that everything was normal, she picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Hey babe, I’m coming home in a while. Do you need anything from the store?” Roger’s gravelly voice soothed her soul like a balm on an opened wound.
“Umm.” She tried to focus but her mind scattered in a thousand different directions. The main path it wanted to take was to the envelope on the table, but she couldn’t allow her thoughts to stray down that road, instead she did a u-turn remembering the grocery list.
“Honey?” He waited a few seconds. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Amanda tried to school her voice and pretend her life wasn’t falling apart. “I do need some things for the pies.”
“You aren’t going to catch the oven on fire again, are you?” His laugh brightened her day.
“That wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know the grease dripped on the bottom of the oven.”
“I know.” Roger laughed. “How many pies are you baking?”
“Three, apple, blueberry and lemon meringue.”
“I love your lemon meringue.”
“Well, maybe if you’re good and quit picking on me about catching the oven on fire, I could make two lemons.”
“That’d be four pies,” Roger stated. “Can you manage that many?”
“With your help I can.”
“What would the church bake sale do without you?”
“I’m sure they’d manage.” Her eyes darted to the table where the grocery list and the letter sat side by side. “Hold on let me get the grocery list.” Amanda set the phone down and walked over to the table. Even though Roger’s joking and talking made her forget for a few minutes, she couldn’t help but notice the envelope. With a shaking hand she picked up the grocery list, trying to pretend everything was normal for a few more minutes. After going back to the phone she rattled off the ingredients needed for the pies.
“Got it. I’ll be home soon. Love you.”
“I love you too.” Tears welled as she set the receiver back into the cradle. Fighting back the panic that threatened to overtake her, Amanda went back into the kitchen and sat down at the table, staring hard at the envelope, trying to read the words through the paper.
She licked her dry lips. Her mouth felt like a car engine that had run through the Sahara desert and now needed washed out and some good lubrication added. Her eyes darted to the top cupboard where the stash of scotch stood. She’d stopped drinking a long time ago but hadn’t thrown out the alcohol. Somehow scotch seemed like the best lubrication for her dry mouth and aching heart.
She poured a glass and gulped the liquid it burned her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. Not caring, she downed the rest and poured another glass. After a few glasses the burning subsided, however, the pain in her heart still throbbed.
Amanda sat back down, feeling bold enough to pick up the square envelope it felt heavy like a card. Chyna-Blue was etched into the white paper with a black pen. The name slapped her in the face. “How did he find me?” She waited for a reply that would never come. How did he ever find her? Chyna-Blue had come back to kick her down. Chyna-Blue can run but she can’t hide.
She’d worked hard at keeping her past a secret. This letter threatened the stability of the life she’d built. Amanda wasn’t about to give up without a fight, not this time. She had too much to lose. Johnny wasn’t taking any more away from her.
More tears spilled down her cheeks. That wretched man had destroyed enough of her life. Five years ago he’d found her huddled in a box in the back alley of a restaurant. She’d run away from home. Run away from the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of her alcoholic father.
He’d been nice and offered to help her. He set her up in a nice hotel room and fed her. After a few weeks Johnny started wanting sex. Although she hadn’t wanted to, she’d been scared of being thrown back on the streets. So she gave in. The first step in losing her identity.
Next, he pressed her to help out with the bills. When she adamantly refused to become a hooker, he’d beat her and kept her locked up in a dark closet with nothing to eat. She only saw daylight when he dragged her out to beat her. Then he’d lock her back up. After several weeks she’d given in to his demands.
Her first trick had been one of his buddies. Johnny stayed in the room and watched just to make sure she followed through. The guy had been rough and slapped her several times. He’d blackened one eye and made her nose bleed, calling her names like whore, slut and stupid pig. When he finished he’d rolled off her, got dressed and smiled at her pimp. Tossing some bills on the table he sneered and said, “I’m only paying half the amount because she wasn’t worth the whole shebang.”
“What!” Johnny followed him out of the bedroom.
Chyna-Blue sat up, wiping the tears and blood from her face. When her pimp stormed back in, he yelled, “You stupid slut! You’re gonna learn how to please a man if it’s the last thing you do.” He slapped her other eye, giving her a matching pair of black eyes. At least she was symmetrical now. He forced her to perform vile sexual acts all night long while beating her in between the lessons. By the time he’d finished with her in the morning, she welcomed strangers who at least didn’t beat her. Well most of the time they didn’t, however she occasionally ran across some brutal clients, ones who got off on hitting her during sex.
Amanda shook her head, silently trying to free her mind of the memories. What man would marry a woman who sold her body? What would her friends and people from church say? Amanda had used the street name Chyna-Blue for four years, however starting her life over meant changing her name too. It felt like a symbol of freedom, a sign of becoming normal. Not using her birth name, Mary, had been intentional as it meant a trail of bitterness. Already having lived a bitter life, she wanted a name that related to starting over. Amanda meant loveable. Roger had made her feel loved and protected. He made her dreams a reality.
She’d met Roger in Connecticut. He’d been there for an engine seminar. She’d been waiting tables at a little restaurant. He walked in wearing blue jeans and a red dress shirt with no tie. The shirt molded to his body, defining his broad shoulders and muscular hips. She’d fallen in love at first sight.
Shock couldn’t even describe the emotion she felt when he asked her out on a date. Having two hours until the shift ended, he’d waited, eating pie and drinking coffee. They’d gone to a club and spent the rest of the night dancing and talking.
Amanda learned that he lived in Pennsylvania and worked as a mechanic. He dreamed of opening his own shop someday. He wanted a wife and kids with a little house in the country. She’d never felt as connected to anyone as she had to Roger. After spending the whole weekend together she’d fallen head over heels in love.
By Sunday he offered to come visit her. She’d countered with a better invitation. “Why don’t I come live with you?”
“You hardly know me?” Roger looked stunned. “I could be an ax murderer.”
“You’re too gentle to hurt anyone.”
“No one has ever known me so fast.” He kissed her lips softly. “I’ve never felt so drawn to anyone before. I feel like I’ve known you for years.” He offered her security and love.
“I feel the same way.” She kissed him back with a passion she’d never felt before.
“Don’t you have family here?” He’d asked.
“No.” She looked him in the eyes. “I have no reason to stay.”
So she quit her job and packed up to live in the tiny Amish country. All her dreams were fulfilled in the dreams of Roger. But she’d kept her past hidden. Even though Roger asked questions sometimes, he never pushed her for details.
This letter would change all that. It’d say the same thing the others had. Johnny would go on about loving and missing her. He only missed the money she brought in. She’d been his best prostitute. The fact that she was only sixteen when she started hooking made it easier to secure the men’s attention. She’d also gone for the natural look, styling her brown hair to gently fall over her shoulders. Her make-up had been simple, not heavy and harsh like some of the women wore.
She’d found that most of the men wanted a whore but wanted to pretend that it was a relationship. They wanted to think that they knew the young beauty, that they even loved her. The money they paid her was simply a gift. It made the reality easier to take.
But she’d left that life two years ago, trying to start over. Now her past had caught up with her, poised to destroy everything good. What would she do if Roger threw her out? She had no job. No money. She’d opted to help Roger start up his own shop. She’d been taking classes to learn about fixing cars but Roger had taught her most of what she knew. He told her she was a quick study. She’d never been good at anything before. Her sense of pride had developed since working on cars. The nickname grease monkey was the highest praise anyone could call her.
She and Roger worked side by side in the garage then came home and spent quite evenings together, cooking supper, watching TV or playing Scrabble, the normal sort of life she’d always wanted. It had almost become permanent. In two weeks she would have had the fairytale ending she’d always dreamed of.
Why couldn’t Johnny and her past stay buried? The nightmare that used to be her life now stared her down. Could Roger forgive her? Would the Amish understand her past? She could run away again. Disappear without a trace. But she had something here she’d never had in twenty one years. Love. Trust. Acceptance. Could she throw all that away?
She heard the purr of an engine in the driveway and knew that Roger was home. The moment of truth had arrived. She swallowed the last of the alcohol in her glass and mentally prepared the words that would tell him the full story of her life.

(c) 2010 Candy-Ann Little