Friday, June 3, 2011

I Just Want a Letter





This post was written for the Red Riding Hood Prompt. This week's prompt is all about character development.

We'd like you to write about what your character wants most. 




 We got together back in July 2006. I remember it well. I loved her, and, my God, did she love me. She was in school then and we were inseparable. I worked for her - whatever she was looking for or needed prepared for her classes, I would make sure she'd get it done.

As the Fall approached she began teaching again. I couldn't believe that she got permission for me to come into her classroom with her. It was a whole new role for me, "teacher's assistant", but if that's what she wanted from me, then I wanted to provide that for her. Everyone had questions about the arrangement. Students, teachers, even administrators wanted to know how I was doing in the classroom, if she regretted the decision, what types of things I could and couldn't do. It was cute how proud she was of me, how she would show me off and gush over the simplest of things I did for her.

The years passed like this and doors seemed to burst open for us. We applied and were admitted into the Google Teacher Academy. We were granted permission to visit my home town of SanFrancisco for MacWorld. We presented everything we learned to the school staff when we returned. Then, for her classes and for her own personal use, we began blogging.

I was happy that she was writing and that I could be there with her as she began, but at the end of last year, after a year of her being so sick, I, too, fell ill. She couldn't help me in her state and I couldn't help her in mine. We both escaped to our respective quiet hibernation until the time was right.

About a month ago, after her own respite, she found me and rescued me from my solitude. She brought me to professionals who could set me straight again. It worked, and although we were both out of the classroom due to our respective disabilities, we got back to work on her writing. We started blogging together again and, with it, began to feel useful.

But I have a secret that I don't want to tell her. I think we may be losing our E. I feel her tap and I want to respond to her every wish as I have always done, but I keep failing her when it comes to this ever-so-prevalent vowel. She must be starting to notice. Her proofreads are taking longer. I know with her limited vision a missing e in the word "the" is exactly the type of thing that can go unnoticed. How can I repair my own ravaged key so that she does not have to worry about such mundane details in a swirl of creativity?

We have had such a beautiful love affair. But can she accept that my "lov" is as deep as my "lovE" has always been? The last thing I want to be is another broken thing for her to fix, so I keep hoping, wishing and praying to the Apple gods that my E will come back.

You ask me what I want. It's so simple and yet so complex - I would like 1/26th of the alphabet. One letter, a vowel. It's actually a number, too. On my keyboard it also controls the accent mark. It is all these things, but what's more, it is the key to a seamless relationship of shared joy over the creative process. It's an E and, yes, it is that important.