Just Sayin' Page 7
I thought Cassie might try to get her friend Nick to take the second ticket, but I guess that wouldn’t have worked out so well, since he’s only 11 and can’t drive to Hannibal. Then I was sure this would force her to call her mother and offer Jen the ticket. But the day before, we’d heard from Jen that her boss is insisting she keep her speaking commitment at that newspaper convention. So Cassie asked me to go with her. I suppose she was thinking I was her best hope of a ride to Hannibal. And I do like that town and its history.
Looks like we’ll be there with bells on!
By the way, I love the names of those towns you’ve been writing and filming from. Tell your producer that for the next season, your pen pal says he should consider these:
Toad Suck, Arkansas
Lizard Lick, North Carolina
Toadvine, Alabama
Frogtown, Mississippi
Frog City, Illinois
Mousetown, Maryland
Mouse Island, Maine
Squirrel Town, Ohio
Chipmonk, New York
Then the following season:
Burntfork, Wyoming
Burnt Cane, Arkansas
Burnt Cabins, Pennsylvania
Burnt Chimney Corner, North Carolina
Burnt Corn, Alabama
Burnt Creek, Georgia
Burnt Factory, Virginia and/or West Virginia (Yep—there’s one in both states.)
Burnt House, West Virginia
Burnt Ranch, California
Burnt Prairie, Illinois
Burnt Tree, Virginia
Burnt Woods, Maryland
See you soon, Johnny!
Emma
From: Travis Barton
Chicago, IL
August 13
To: Jennifer Callahan
San Bernardino, CA
Dear Jen,
I am writing you at this address, which was given to me by your daughter, Cassie, because I had no idea you were in San Bernardino until my son, Nick, told me that. I guess Nick knew because he and your daughter have remained friends and she tells him stuff like that, and other things.
I want you to know that I miss you very, very, very, very much. Missing you has turned me into a grump, but I would stop being one if you came back to me, which is why I am writing you. I know I could have called you, but you might have hung up on me. You can’t hang up on a letter.
I don’t mind telling you that me leaving with Julie and Nick was a big, fat mistake, and we are not happy here in Chicago. For one thing, I don’t like working for Grandad. He was nice to let us live with him and all, but who really enjoys living in an old folks’ home, except maybe old folks? Plus, the kids hate the idea of going to the private school I will make them go to and wear uniforms that will make them look like dorks.
I am very sorry that we left so suddenly, but I couldn’t take being rejected again. When you said those things about having doubts about getting married to me and everything, I freaked out, and that explains that. I had a very rough time when my other wife, who is now a movie TV-commercial star, dumped me. I sure didn’t want to have to go through that all over again.
I think if you and I could get together again, we could talk it all out and still get married and have our kids be stepbrothers and stepsisters. And we might even end up being a family and living happilyeverafter.
You can call me at the number on the back of this paper, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention this letter.
Love ya,
Travis
P.S. Nick and Julie miss you very much too. And they miss Cassie and Kirby and even Gram.
From: Jennifer Callahan
San Bernardino, CA
(but I brought this envelope with me, so it looks like it was postmarked in Hamilton, MO, instead of San Bernardino)
August 15
To: Travis Barton
Old Folks’ Home
Chicago, IL
My dearest Travis,
Even though we haven’t seen each other for weeks, my love for you is unequivocal (which, as you no doubt know because you are so intelligent, means “absolute; unqualified; not subject to conditions or exceptions”). So, of course, I miss you very, very, very much, Travis, my darling. So do Cassie and even Gram.
I was surprised and hurt when you left so fast that last night we were together, when your deep brown eyes grew dark and foreboding, instead of wide with understanding. But I get it. You were scared, and sometimes even grown-up men do get scared. Sometimes they don’t, but you did, because you did not want me to leave you the way your first wife did. And so, I understand. But I don’t think you should have left and taken Nick and Julie away with you.
My sweetheart, we should have talked about our fears together. I, too, was afraid in my own way. I feared I was betraying my first love, even though he is no longer with us (because he is dead). It is not too late, my love. We can still talk this through like adults (adults who are not so scared that they won’t talk to each other). We just need to dialogue with each other.
In my columns, I always say that anything in the house can be cleaned up and fixed if you know how. I think that you and I know how to fix our house. Let us talk.
Come back to Missouri. Or at least write or text. Or, I guess you could even call me, but you’d have to use my cell phone number because I’m not in Hamilton. But let’s not say anything about this letter, okay?
Love always,
Jen
P.S. If Cassie and Nick and Julie have been able to stay friends, we should be able to also.
Cassie Callahan
Hamilton, MO
August 15
Dear Jesus,
I guess you saw that letter I wrote to the Last Insult Standing, huh? It was the best I could do, and I really did hold back on the mean insults, don’t you think? I don’t suppose they’ll pick me for that show now, but it would really help if they did. Nick’s trying out too. We both wanted to win so we could get Travis and Mom on the same cruise for 10 days. Now I’m thinking that if Nick wins, he can still count us in as part of his family. Only right now, that’s a stretch. So I guess I better ask you to come through for us. We need a win. (You said I could ask you for anything, right?)
Speaking of letters, Nick and I are making this last-ditch letter-writing effort to our parents, and we could really use your help. I am writing to Travis but pretending to be my mom. (Wait—it’s for a really good cause.) Nick is writing Mom, only pretending to be Travis. We are only saying what they should be saying to each other, what they WOULD say if they weren’t so messed up right now. Mom is confused because of how much she loved my dad and doesn’t want to be disloyal to him. (Please say hi to Dad for me. Tell him I still have his baseball signed by Stan the Man Musial himself, and it’s front and center on my dresser. And you can tell him that Mom and I still love him, but you could maybe explain about how even you needed a stepdad down here.)
Travis is all freaked out because of his ex-wife, who just up and left him and little Nick and Baby Julie the second she got an offer to be an actress in Los Angeles. And even though that fell through, she didn’t come back home. Not ever. And you know how great Julie and Nick turned out anyway. Their mother is the one missing out, even if she is on a potato-chip commercial.
This letter-writing plan doesn’t sound like it’s all on the up-and-up, I know. But I’m counting on you knowing what it’s like to want your Father. I’ll bet you missed your real Father, who stayed up in heaven to run things—but at least he wasn’t dead.
My real father is dead, which you know because he’s there with you. I know Mom still misses him, and I hope we get to see each other in heaven (only not too soon, okay?). But I miss Travis, too, and he’s still down here. Did you miss Joseph, your stepfather? I’m thinking he maybe died when you were young because Mary shows up without him an awful lot.
Gram is only making things worse. She has this habit of humming—and even singing—around the house. This is not a good sound. You would prob
ably still call it a “joyful noise” and be okay with it, but Kirby, our black lab, howls at it. I told Gram about Proverbs 25:20: “Singing cheerful songs to a person with a heavy heart is like taking someone’s coat in cold weather or pouring vinegar in a wound.” She told me to put a sock in it.
Thanks for letting me write you about my heavy heart. I know how busy you are, but I still have to keep asking you to get Travis and Mom back together. And I’m hoping you’ll help out with the letters Nick and I wrote, and that they’ll do the trick. Also it would be great if Nick and I both got to be on The Last Insult Standing and could win that cruise. Even though you probably aren’t crazy about some of the insults, could you help out there, too? I really am trying to stay away from mean insults. Pastor Mike says words should build up instead of tearing down, and I’ll bet you agree. Only this is not so easy.
Your friend,
Cassie
P.S. Thanks for getting Kirby, King of Insults, to write to me. I think he’s got problems of his own. So maybe you could help him out too, when you get time.
Kirby the Insult King
Hog Jaw, AR (just passing through, thank goodness)
Hey, Kid Callahan,
Remember how I told you about my insult-free little sister? Well, she died of leukemia when she was only seven. To tell you the truth, I’ve been pretty mad about it ever since. Your not-stepbrother, Nick, sent me that page you wrote him about the blind guy and how it wasn’t nobody’s fault. I was very surprised when he did that, and I will have to ask him why. Because that was pretty weird. If you think to ask him before I get around to it, let me know what the kid has to say. For years and years, it made me sad and angry whenever I thought about little Lizzy—Elizabeth Anne Kirby. But today I thought about her, and I smiled.
I got your thank-you card for the tickets. It was pretty funny. So funny I forgot to laugh.
The King
P.S. That dog of yours—the dog named Kirby—he, excuse me, she—writes an insulting letter. It sounds to me like your mutt has been chasing too many parked cars.
MARTIN SMIRNOFF, PRODUCER
THE LAST INSULT STANDING
NEW YORK, NY
AUGUST 13
Dear Ms. Callahan:
Congratulations!
It is our extreme pleasure to inform you that our judges have selected you as one of our five female finalists in The Last Insult Standing contest. Your insults were chosen from hundreds of entries received from all across the United States.
We will be broadcasting the entire contest live from the Mark Twain museum on Main Street in Hannibal, Missouri. You will be expected to report to our production staff by 5 p.m. on August 31.
Please return the enclosed confirmation form and press release, along with the parental consent form, if necessary. We’ll see you on August 31!
Once again, hearty congratulations!
Martin Smirnoff, Producer
MARTIN SMIRNOFF, PRODUCER
THE LAST INSULT STANDING
NEW YORK, NY
AUGUST 13
Dear Mr. Barton:
Congratulations!
It is our extreme pleasure to inform you that our judges have selected you as one of our five male finalists in The Last Insult Standing contest. Your insults were chosen from hundreds of entries received from all across the United States.
We will be broadcasting the entire contest live from the Mark Twain museum on Main Street in Hannibal, Missouri. You will be expected to report to our production staff by 5 p.m. on August 31.
Please return the enclosed confirmation form and press release, along with the parental consent form, if necessary. We’ll see you on August 31!
Once again, hearty congratulations!
Martin Smirnoff, Producer
Cassie Callahan
Hannibal, MO
Dear Nick,
Woohooooo! Yipppppeeee! I won!
Cassie
P.S. It’s so hard not to tell anybody (but you) that I’m going to be on TV!
P.P.S. How come you sent the King my letter about disease not being anybody’s fault? I’m glad you did and everything, but you didn’t even know about his sister, did you?
Nick Barton
Chicago, IL
Woohoo! And double yippee! I won too!
Congratulations!
Love ya,
Nick and Julie
P.S. Nick here. I told Julie you won a big contest, but I didn’t tell her I won too. And I certainly didn’t tell her my plans about getting to Hannibal. But I will see you there!
P.P.S. I didn’t know I sent your letter to the Insult King—must have been an accident. I’ve got all your letters on my desk crammed into Grandad’s little den, so I must have stuffed it in when I wrote him. Sorry about that.
Jen Callahan
San Bernardino, CA
August 16
Dear Cassie,
I just received a rather intriguing letter from Chicago, Illinois, claiming to come from Travis. I knew immediately it wasn’t from him. And I’d be lying if I told you I’m not embarrassed by it. At first, I thought it had to have come from you somehow, even though the postmark said it was from Chicago. But it did not contain your peculiar vocabulary.
Then I realized it had been written by dear Nick. (Having him call his dad a grump was only one of many clues, others being “Love ya” and “old folks’ home.” Still, it was a very sweet gesture.
I hope you will tell him that I appreciate the time he took to write the letter. And I found it touching and perceptive of him (you may have to explain “perceptive” to him) to have understood his father’s reasonable fears. I found that quite surprising, in fact. Didn’t know Nick had it in him.
And so, I was amused and, as I said, moved by the letter . . . until I talked with your grandmother this evening.
How could you, Cassie?! Seriously, you actually wrote to Travis? And you pretended you were me? Gram claims she didn’t know about your little scheme beforehand. But when I told her about my letter from Nick, she said, “Ah. So that explains it.” And she chuckled. Turns out she saw your envelope addressed to Travis, instead of Nick. But she just didn’t have time to ask you about it? That’s a discussion for another time.
I am mortified that you wrote to Travis on my behalf, impersonating me! I’m horrified to imagine what you must have said! We are going to have a long talk about this very soon, young lady! I would make your grandmother drag you to the phone right now, if I didn’t know you were in youth group. You, missy, are in big, big trouble.
Now I have to think what I’m going to do about it.
Love,
Mom
Nick Barton
Chicago, IL
August 18
Dear Cassie,
So, the cat’s out of the bag. Or maybe the cat’s still in the bag and at the bottom of the lake. Dad guessed right away that you were the one who wrote that letter to him. What did you do wrong, anyway? Did you use big words or something? He said you were pretty mushy, which was too much for somebody who just dumped somebody.
I’ll bet your mom has no idea I wrote the letter to her.
But you want to know something funny? Dad wasn’t all that mad. I caught him reading that letter over and over last night and again this morning.
Your favorite letter writer,
Nick
P.S. Only 13 more days to Hannibal!
P.P.S. Thanks a million for the extra money. I was able to book a ticket on a bus that travels at night, the night of August 30, and it only makes about one-tenth of the stops the other bus was going to make. Plus, this one is air-conditioned and has a bathroom right on it.
P.P.P.S. Grandad signed my parental consent form for the live show. (He says if anyone’s a parent, it’s him.) He hasn’t said anything to Dad about it, and I thought he was my partner in crime until I figured out he probably doesn’t remember signing the thing. Anyway, I’m taking a copy of it in case the bus driver is awake enough to ask about my
age.
TEXT MESSAGE: FROM JEN TO TRAVIS
Jen:
I feel I must apologize for my daughter. I don’t know what she wrote to you. I just know she wrote a letter to you and signed my name, which I suppose you figured out before I did.
Travis:
No need to apologize. Cassie writes a good letter. And yep, I did realize it wasn’t from you the minute she wrote “unequivocal” and then, thankfully, defined it for me.
Jen:
That’s my girl! Nick’s letter was pretty good too. He definitely put a lot of thought into it.
Travis:
Hold on! You mean Nick wrote to you and signed my name?
Jen:
Oops. Sorry—didn’t mean to get him in trouble. Actually, it was . . . very thoughtful.
Travis:
I’m going to have a serious talk with that boy. I guess I haven’t been doing enough of that lately.
Jen:
I know what you mean.
Travis:
. . .
Jen:
. . .
Johnathan Kirby
The Hour of Insult
Vatican, LA
August 16
Kid Callahan,
Take it easy on your grandmother, kid. Me and Emma have become pals, and I don’t got many of those.
Emma tells me your master plan for getting your mom and Nick’s dad together went south. Sorry about that, kid. My parents split up when I was about your age, and it sure ain’t no picnic, no matter what anybody tells you. The one thing I learned was that it’s never the kids’ fault. Just so you know.
On a brighter note (man, I never thought I’d say those words together), I heard you and Nick both are finalists in The Last Insult Standing. Ain’t that a hoot! I guess after getting letters from the both of you and getting insulted two ways from Sunday, I shouldn’t be all that surprised. But I wanted to tell you straight-out that I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t pull no strings. I didn’t even get to see your 10 insults, and I didn’t get a vote. Not that I woulda if I coulda. This contest is all on the up-and-up legit.