Dear Sylvia (9 page)

That was me on the other side of the street. That was my bike and those were my drones humming and I held the cat as well as I could. The air was even heavier than before especially when the lights started to go on and people stuck their heads out of windows and the dogs yowelled.

But I stood all through it and so I'm a piper.

When your light went on I'm sorry I had to go quickly and anyway somebody's dog was after me then.

But that was me.

Owen

Dear Sylvia,

Mrs. Kingswell thinks I am an idiot.

We had a spelling test today and just like always I wrote down all the words right off they were so easy and then I looked at them and I started to think. And the more I thought the harder they got. I just wanted to peek in my dictionary which has got my thumbprints on it now from all my checking when I am writing to you.

Then the test was over and Mrs. Kingswell called me in front of everybody at her desk. She said in a little voice that everyone could hear all the way back — Owen you have to work harder on your spelling.

I said — I am sorry Mrs. Kingswell.

She said — Owen didn't your other teachers get you to memorize spelling words?

I said — I am trying to get better Mrs. Kingswell!

She said — Owen do you ever read? Books? Printed matter?

I said — I write a lot Mrs. Kingswell. And I read the dictionary.

Whenever you speak to Mrs. Kingswell you need to say her name. It is like she might forget who she is if you don't.

She said — when people see misspelled words they think you are ill-bred and uneducated.

Like an ignoramus — I said. Some of the others laughed in a little way because they weren't supposed to be listening but they were.

She said — what do you write Owen?

I said — letters Mrs. Kingswell. I write a lot of letters.

Do you have penpals in far-off places?

No Mrs Kingswell.

They will think ill of you if you mangle the language — she said. When you see the word spelled correctly in the dictionary then just let it sink into your thick head and it will be there forever in its correct and unchanging form!

So I am trying to let it all sink into my thick brain.

To whom do you write Owen Skye? — she asked.

And I said — nobody in a little voice that made me sick to hear it. But also I said to myself — Sylvia. I write to Sylvia Tull.

She is my true love — I said all to myself.

Love,
Owen

Dear Sylvia,

It was a shock to see you and your legs. I am sorry now I didn't send any of my letters or call you which I could have since we moved to Elgin and the telephone is free. And twice I went to your house but just blew bagpipes. It is a lot to think that we both had disasters on almost the same day. My house got hit by a tree and you were hit by that car. I didn't see anything in the newspaper except the picture of the tree on our squashed house. I wasn't looking for your disaster at all.

I didn't know then about how you slipped on the dirt on your bike and the car ran over your legs.

And so of course that was why you were not at school.

I'm sorry I stood so long in the door with my mouth open when you were on your crutches.

Thank you for letting me sign your casts.

And I was glad that I brought the chanter and so could play just softly for you the Lad's Lamant. That's also how it was in my head when I saw it for real. Not a big loud commotion with everybody looking at us and yowelling.

I will come back tomorrow. I have been working on another song Uncle Lorne hummed for me called Bony Lass Will Dance Again. It's harder than Lad's Lamant but it's coming easier.

All the time I was with you in your room and in the den and at dinner with your parents and even in the hallway when I was leaving I thought — I wish I'd brought the box of letters! Then you could read them and know that even though I didn't know you were having your disaster I was thinking about you anyway.

But now I don't know.

So I am wrapping this box in lots of plastic and tinfoil and more plastic and I even have a metal box that Sadie found for me. I am going to go back to the old house. And I will bury the box by the apple tree in a spot that I can't forget because I looked at that tree all my life so far from up and down.

That's where these letters will be.

And I will not dig them up again until we have our first child. Wherever we are in Elgin or anywhere else I will go back to the apple tree and find them for you.

I promise I will not sing in Italian.

And if we are not together then there will be no reason to dig these up and it won't matter.

But if I do dig them up I'll hold the baby while you read and then you will know.

That's all.

Love,
Owen Skye

PSST! Yes I will bring the bagpipes tomorrow if I can borrow them from Uncle Lorne. But we'll have to go out in secret and just be me and you.

The author gratefully acknowledges the financial assistance of the Canada Council for the Arts in the preparation of this manuscript. Many thanks too to Shelley Tanaka for her inspired editing of all the Owen Skye books.

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