Summer Correspondence

Summer of 1941

LETTER SENT TO: Andrew Dodge

DELIVERY: Regular

FROM: Cayden Fletcher and Zachary Kink

(But mostly Kink because Fletch can’t write for crap. Or so says Zachary Kink.)

(Or maybe it’s because Kink wouldn’t let Fletch touch the pen because he stood over the letter writing like a little girl. Or so says Cayden Fletcher.)

(It should be pointed out that Kink is not a “little girl”. He is a man, dammit. Or so says Zachary Kink.)

How’s it going, Dodger?

Fletch and I are a little insulted that we haven’t heard from you already. You know, considering it’s the beginning of July. It makes us think that we really haven’t meant anything to you. I’m hurt, I really, really am.

Fletch arrived here yesterday, y’know. He has already come onto my sister three times. Situation has been dealt with: threatened to castrate him. Didn’t believe me. Threat was attempted. Victim mumbles about guest-abuse but I like to think that he had it coming, don’t you?

Anyway to be honest I really don’t even know where you are. I want to say New Zealand. And I swear if you don’t bring me back some kind of souvenir, I’ll be truly insulted. You don’t have to get Fletch anything. He’s not writing the letter. He obviously doesn’t care.

Isn’t it nice to know that I’m here to beg you for post? You know, just so that we can make sure you don’t die in a foreign country? And maybe get eaten because to be honest I don’t really know the customs of New Zealand are.

I just threw the pen at Fletch by the way. That’s why this whole paragraph’s in red. He was sitting there and I feel like he did something that required me throwing a pen at him.

I’m writing in red because it’s the color of fire.

Well, mostly it’s yellow. And there’s some orange. But can’t really hot fire be red?

No? Well damn, they don’t make orange or yellow pens.

Hang on.

Okay now I’m back and I’m writing in orange because it’s the only colored pencil I could find that would show up well enough for me to write the rest of the letter in. And it’s the color of fire!

Fletch just informed me sometimes fire can actually be blue. Well, did you know that? I didn’t know that. Fun fact of the day, that is. Blue fire. Do you care at all? No? Good, me neither.

Gave Fletch the middle finger because I know he told me about the blue fire just to be difficult. He threatened to eat it. ‘It’ being either my finger or the fire. I’m not sure which. Either way, it’s weird. Cannibalism or something. Fire-ism.

Anyway not much else has been going on so I guess I should end this letter. I’ll talk to you soon, Dodger darling, and write back dammit. I realize that it’s such a burden to let your two best friends know how you’re doing in whatever foreign country has a hold of you (New Zealand or something?) but you do know that Fletch and I have a tendency to worry about you. Especially since you don’t have our brilliant presence which must make your life doubly difficult over there. It’s a tragedy when you go on exotic trips, really. Your life’s really tough.

Fletch wants to write something. I’m saying ‘no’ because he’s got shit handwriting and mine is better and Cade Fletcher stop reading this over my shoulder and screaming at me, you make me want to blow a fuse sometimes.

Must end this letter, Dodge. Sorry I couldn’t do it more poetically. I’m interrupted.

-Kink

P.S. It’s Cade. Sorry the letter’s wrinkled. We fought. I won. That stain over there? His spit. Avoid contact with it; we may never know what kind of diseases Kink carries around. AND MY HANDWRITING IS NOT THAT BAD. Anyway I just wanted to say ‘hello’ and that I miss you and that you’re coming to Kink’s house as soon as you get back from Russia (isn’t that where you are? What the fuck, he’s so stupid for putting New Zealand. Opposite ends of the equator.). Have fun! Shit he’s coming to find me. Did I mention I was writing this in his sister’s room? What? She has the best writing desk!

-Fletch

X-X-X

LETTER TO: Misters Cayden Fletcher and Zachary Kink

DELIVERY: Regular

FROM: The only person who will ever write these two.

Hooligans—

First of all, I’m solving your mystery of where I actually am in this world (regardless of how amusing it is to sit here and watch you play ‘Where In The World Is Andrew Dodge?’I fear that one of you is going to get a massive headache trying to locate me on the globe). I am in England, so you both lose. New Zealand? Russia?

…Really, guys?

I’m glad you let your mom address the envelope or I have no idea where this would have ended up. And by the way, so you know, both of you have awful handwriting. It took me nearly an hour to decipher your letter.

But I’m a little insulted that you can’t remember that I’ve gone to England every summer since I was five….

Anyway I’m coming back to Connecticut soon so that we’re able to wreak a little havoc before school starts up again and we have to roam the wonderfully dull halls of Doling for another nine months and then you won’t have to worry about missing me because we’ll be dorming together as per usual.

Small request this year, can we at least trynot to grow anything under our beds? And by ‘our’ I mean Kink. That’s just gross, man. It was moving.

For the last time, stop killing parentheses. Stop it. I know, they’re fun to make positive or negative smiley faces with and they’re enjoyable (I guess) if used properly, but really. Another thing? You burn my eyeswith your poor grammar. The fragments. Oh the fragments. I judge you for them.

Did you catch the irony? I used a fragment right there to demonstrate the crime for which you are guilty. No one likes to read sentences that sound as if a person with a breathing condition had written them. This. Is. So. Bloody. Annoying. Make this. Massacre of. The English language. Stop.

Do you see what I mean?

While we’re on the subject, ‘miscapitalized’ is most definitely not a word and don’t even try to say that Shakespeare made up his own words so that means you can too (because I know you’ll try that reason.). Shakespeare didn’t kill parentheses and overuse fragments until my eyes bled. The Bard laughs at your incompetence. I, on the other hand, chuckle mildly because I’m a good friend.

Anyway my summer’s been fairly decent here. I’m coming back with a bit of an accent like always. The way people speak here sort of grows on you. Please don’t ask me to say ‘cheers’ or call you ‘mates’ or say something about the Queen five thousand times like you do normally. No, I didn't meet the Queen, nor will I be meeting her in the near future. She’s a lovely woman, I’m sure, but I don’t have ‘tea and crumpets’ with her and regular basis. We’re not that close.

I appreciate Fletch’s addition to the note; you should really let him write more often, Kink. And I did know about the blue fire—it happens when you burn driftwood and light gas fires and things of that nature. Anyway I’ll see you in about a week or so, I’m not sure if your reply would get here in time so maybe a simple telegram would suffice (we can do that, you know, guys. I’m not sure if you realized that).

Regards,

Dodger