Mr Mascellani's Musings

Lucinda's Letters

It looks as though John is busy at his desk,browsing through a file. But really he's reading Lucinda's latest hand-written letter that, as per usual, arrived in an outrageously ironical tongue-in-cheek girlie girl pink envelope that was sealed at the back with a great big gold star.

This time, the pages inside are yellow and bordered with red roses. Lucinda's handwriting swoops and swirls across each page in a sensuous, sensual mad dash passionate dance of overused exclamation points, misused ellipses, and little round circles that float above her i's and her j's. She sprinkles her letters to John with perfume and ends them with X's and O's for kisses and hugs, plus a kiss on the bottom right hand corner from her lip-sticked lips.

She writes of things such as how she painted her 'room, that her daughter had measles, that her mother's nag, about a particular student with whom she's having issues, and the latest book she's reading for fun.

John loves receiving and reading these hand-written letters from this widowed-at-twenty four, thirty two year old woman from Kentucky who works as a women studies lecturer at the University of X, and who is the mother of one daughter, two cocker spaniels, and a ferret, and who hates, hates, (and one more time for emphasis) hates being called 'Lucy'.

He keeps some of her letters at home, and some in the top drawer of his desk at work and when his bosses, his colleagues, and clients, in fact, when his whole entire suck ass job gets him down he rereads one of Lucinda's hand-written letter to remind himself that he needs his job in order to save up for a one-way aeroplane ticket.

Rewrite

John is at his desk at work. He is reading Lucinda's latest handwritten letter.

Handwritten. Not typed up nor printed out, but handwritten.

John adores handwritten letters. They evoke in him pleasant images and memories: vinyl records, black and white television and movies, the rotary dial telephone, his mother's vanilla scented kitchen, beachside family vacations as a boy, Jennings and Derbyshire in trouble with old 'Wilkie' again and glorious old words such as 'hark', 'alas' and 'singular'.

Handwritten letters, for John, they are as deliciously romantic as an Ella Fitzgerald 33rpm record.

Handwritten. John even loves the sound of that compound word.

John met Lucinda online. She is a widowed at 24,32 year old woman who works as a Women Studies lecturer at the University of Kentucky, and who is the mother of one daughter, two cockerspaniels, a ferret, and who hates being called 'Lucy'.

She mentioned once that she liked handwritten letters. But, alas, nobody sends her any- just emails and text messages.

He fell in love with her as soon as he read that and wrote to her.

'Dear Lucinda, you are most singular lass…" he had written in his 'drunken ants across the page' handwriting in his first letter to her which he had sent in a plain white envelope.


Lucinda's latest hand-written letter arrived in an outrageously ironical tongue-in-cheek girlie girl pink envelope that was sealed at the back with gold star.

The pages inside are yellow and bordered with red roses. Her handwriting swoops and swirls across each page in a sensuous, sensual mad dash passionate dance of overused exclamation points, misused ellipses, and little circles that float above her i's and her j's. She sprays her letters to John with perfume and ends them with X's and O's for kisses and hugs, plus a kiss on the bottom right hand corner from her lip-sticked lips.

She writes about how she painted her room, her daughter's measles, her mother's constant nagging, a student with whom she's having issues, and the latest book she's reading for fun.

He tells her everything. Even about the gambling debt that keeps him working in a job that he hates and away from her.

He keeps some of her letters at home, and some in the top drawer of his desk at work and when the arse-licking, backstabbing, two-faced politics of his bosses and colleagues get him down he rereads one of Lucinda's hand-written letter to make things more tolerable and remind himself that he needs his job to save up for that one-way airplane ticket.