The holidays were the worst. All those well-meaning faces. "We heard about you and Brenda." "Oh, we're so sorry about you and Brenda." "Have you heard from Brenda?" Ken couldn't wait to pull out of his folks' driveway.
The streets were filled with shoppers, still daring the rain-slicked pavement to exchange all those gifts that Santa had gotten wrong. At the little drugstore on Fourth, the shopkeeper was already yanking down the decorations.
Never had Ken been so glad to see a Christmas go.
Reflexively, he stopped at the intersection near the McDonald's. A blaring horn behind him reminded him that the light was green. Progress did march on, even in his sleepy little hometown. Last year, a new apartment complex by the river. This year, a signal light where there had always been a four-way stop. It only seemed as if time had stood still here during the ten years since he'd left for college.
He eased onto the main drag. He idled along at a mere twenty miles per hour, like he used to do in high school, hoping to distract himself with nostalgic memories.
The plan backfired. As he passed the park, he saw the picnic area he used to visit during that long summer he spent at home after graduation from college. He'd sit at that table and write letters to Brenda.
He stopped the car. He'd never written letters before. He preferred the phone, but he and Brenda were so crazy over each other, the long distance charges would've crucified them. But he tried. Her replies were long, intricate, composed three to four times a day.
"My darling Ken..." they would begin. "Hi, Gorgeous..." "Hello, Stud..."
His hand drifted down to his wallet. Brenda's photo unfolded into the light. Her eyes had that mischievous twinkle he hadn't seen on her real face in years.
He'd found one last letter this year, coming home from a Hallowe'en business trip. "Dear Asshole..."
Ken sighed. He traced the line of Brenda's hair in the photo, and closed the wallet.
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