Dear Kasey (fictional letter )

This fictional letter is a story snippet that comes after two others:

Dear Kasey and Dear Davey.

For the following snippet to make more sense, please check out those first two. This story is a way for me to practice distinctive character voices. In this instance, you'll get to observe my attempt at a very slang talkin' old fisherman who cares not a whit for perfect grammar. I had fun writing it, so perhaps you will have fun reading it.

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Dear Kasey:

I kept ya too busy reelin’ the cod in and tired ya out by the end o’ the day. Funny, we talked right long out there on the water, but I never thought to tell ya the story of my miracle girl. I love tellin’ folks about how the wife and I had Goldie come into our lives, because she’s just such a bright spot in our lives, and she’s real, see-able evidence that the Good Lord still cares about his people.

There was this professor guy who talked all fancy and uppity-like, came to stay the summer at the Brooks’ hotel a few years ago to research some kind o’ crab or somethin’. Met ‘im down on the beach one day not long after he got to the Cove, and I don’t rightly recomember how we got talkin’ about my miracle gal, but when I told him about what a big part of my life Goldie is, I compared her to when the sun appears sudden-like from behind the clouds and lights up everythin’ like a big surprise, except Goldie stayed an' the sun don't always. She doesn’t disappear from my life like the sun slippin' behind the clouds agin.

“Oh,” the professor guy says, “You mean a sunburst.”

“I don’t reckon I ever gave it a specific name,” says I.

“A sunburst is what you just described. A sunburst is when the sun suddenly steps out from behind a cloud before quickly vanishing once more.”

“I dunno ‘bout the steppin’ part, but I reckon a sunburst’s what I meant.”

“Well, we higher-educated people call them sunbursts,” he said.

“If ya say so. We don’t go in for them highfalutin’ names much here in the Cove, I guess.”

He was a funny old chap, that Professor Amos Callahan. I allus wonder if he will ever come back. He visited darn near every evening he was here. Wanted to know about my life for some reason. I dunno as ta why he was so dang interested, cuz I ain’t led that remarkable a life. I’m jest a fisherman.

Ya know, on the outside, Amos was a purty confused fella. He liked to lord his “superior” knowledge over people, did that to me a lot, but somehow I got to how I don’t know that I really minded it, cuz I could see that was his wall. He was scared of somethin’. Maybe of not bein’ taken serious-like by other folks. Seemed to be purty insecure in who he was, poor feller. Ever since I met ‘im, I’ve allus wondered jest what exactly his story is. I wish I knowed where he was at now. He loosed up a bit while he was here in the Cove. P’raps cuz it was so darn tootin’ diffrent from his big boxy city and angry city folks. He was kinda angry himself, but somethin’ about the Cove was good for him. I just dunno if it stuck.

Probably’ll never see the fella again. He seemed so sad and uncomfertable in his own skin, if ya get my meanin’, poor guy. I pray fer ‘im sometimes. Quite regular, really.

You was mentionin’ how yer uncle turned ya out o’ his house. I canna imagine bein’ shoved away so by yer own kith an’ kin, but dang, I sure am glad you stumbled into the Cove, b’y. So long’s you don’t do nuthin dumb, there ain’t no way the Cove folks’d do that ter ya. Ya jest got ter recomember that memories ‘round ‘ere last fer generations. If'n ya really wrong us, ya jest ruined plenty of relationships, and darn near all o’ yore chances at a decent job ‘round this part o’ the country.

But I expect you won’t do nuthin that’d get ya kicked out o’ the Cove. Them b’ys down at the docks want ta steal ya ta work on one o’ their fishin’ rigs next summer, but I told em nope, I found ya, so yer mine. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that folks ‘round her ‘ave taken a rare kind o’ likin’ to ya, and that don’t happen with many folks that visit the Cove.

If a feller can speak freely, which I guess I kinda do darn well all o’ the time, one o’ the best things a boy like you could do is get hitched with a Cove girl.

I canna erase ink. Maybe I shouldnta said that.

Anyhoo, I sure will have ya back on the rig next summer if yer willin’.

Miriam says hello. She’s prayin’ for ya in that stuffed city, an’ so am I. Ya can make ‘er to spring, boy. We’re prayin’ and believin’ in ya, Kasey. Come back to us jest as soon as you can. We miss yer ‘round here.

I don’t cry much either, but hearin’ about you strugglin’ in that city wet the old eyes. I hate to see ya hurtin’. You’ve been through more’n any sixteen year old oughter’ve been put through. I’m warnin’ ya though. If’n you come back, we ain’t never lettin’ you go agin. Yer the son Miriam and I never had.

Never mind the salt drops all o’er this letter. Jest write me back soon.

Davey