Dear Tom,
I told Ben and Allie, two of my grandchildren, about the issue with your head.
“I’m sorry his head hurts. Tell him to take a Tylenol,” Allie suggested carrying on a conversation with her online characters.
“Perhaps you could remember him in your nightly prayers,” I replied.
“Yeah, I can do that.” Ben actually set his tablet down, looked at me and asked, “Who is this guy? How do you know him? Have I ever met him?”
Ben hadn’t released the tablet all summer. I assumed it had been grafted into his hand.
I rubbed my jaw, realized I hadn’t shaved for several days and attempted to organize my thoughts in order to provide Ben with an intelligent answer. Several seconds passed. Nothing intellectual popped into my mind. Cerebral thoughts seldom materialize in my mind, and, if they do, they don’t linger long. That’s why I write family fiction meant for a six-year-old.
“He’s one of the leaders in my writing group.”
Ben shrugged, satisfied with my response and resumed his game. I grabbed a Coke from the fridge and returned to my office. I plopped into my cushy office chair, stared out the window, watched two brightly-colored birds splashing most of the water out of my birdbath and thought about Tom.
I met Tom Hernandez sometime in 2013. A lady from church informed me about WriteOn Joliet, and I decided to check them out. I proudly brought my first novel to a meeting, and the people were polite enough to inquire about it. Several meetings later I realized I knew nothing, nada, zilch, less than zero about how to write, and decided to burn all copies of my book and start over.
I returned from my trip into the past and smiled recalling how organized Tom would be at our meetings. He always had a welcoming smile for newcomers. I eagerly anticipated the times he would read something of his own, though I would often cringe at the anger in his writing and his use of four-letter-words.
Over the years I finely honed my craft, and am proud to say I am a much gooder righter then I were ten years ago. I credit (blame) Tom, Denise and others for the improvement. I also learned from wannabe authors how not to write. My writing became more lucubratory over the years as I drew inspiration from respected storytellers like Hemingway, Steinbeck, Dostoyevsky, Patterson, Hernandez and Charles Schulz.
Currently, other obligations prevent me from attending meetings, either in person or via Tom’s favorite mode of communication… ZOOM. Occasionally, I’ll pop into the library for a quick visit just to see Tom’s smile. Maybe we can compare head scars…
I am terrible at writing poetry, so I asked Ben for help. We came up with this.
Utah’s desert is red
Montana’s skies are blue
My head stopped hurting
I hope yours will, too