Ollie And the Letter

She just finished an exhausting six-hour photo shoot, modeling the hottest swimwear by Guess, on the seven- mile beach in Negril. By the time she arrived in her hotel room, she tossed her bag onto the chair next to the suitcase holder and fell onto the bed, drained of energy.  As she lay there, gathering her thoughts and clearing her mind, she remembered the letter.  The letter that mysterious old man told her had fallen to the floor at the ice cream bar back in the States.  She kept it for two weeks, nervous to open it, but now, for some reason, her mind told her it was time, so she got up and took it our of her purse and with some trepidation, she started to read it:

Dear Suzy:

She thought: How did he know my name?  I don’t think I ever told him.

I knew your father. It was many years ago, and he served with me in some far – off places, and I always thought he looked like a kid, and well, he was quite young.  I was the old man of the platoon back then, as it seems I am now, but those men were my responsibility to lead and protect if I could. He was a hero, who was a patriot who joined me on this dreadful mission. We were in a location where we should not have been, and therefore, our mission, according to the government, did not exist and in fact, we did not exist. I took your father Ray under my wings and he served with honor and courage, and in fact, he inspired me many times when I thought I was losing hope. But on that horrible day, many years ago, thousands of miles away, things got bad, and your father was mortally wounded, and I carried him in my arms to safety as I tried desperately to save him from his wounds.  Before he died in my arms, he told me about a beautiful baby girl who he held after her mother gave birth, and then, one other time, when she was five, before he shipped out to join me the final time.  He told me her name was Suzy, with curly blonde hair and azure – blue eyes, and his last words to me were: “Tell Suzy I love her, if you can, and please, watch over my daughter for me, as only you can, Ollie, my friend.”

Suzy put the crinkled letter down because the tears became a waterfall, and she did not want them to drip on the letter, and smear the ink. She tried to control her emotions, but they could not be stopped. She barely remembered her father when he came home to visit her when she was five, but she did remember, he called her his little blonde princess, and sometimes he called her Pookie.  But he never came back, and she was never told any details of what happened.

The tears cleared up enough so she could see, so she picked up the letter now, with more enthusiasm to learn and started to read again:

When we would fly in to the forward area in the choppers, your father would always sing loudly to overcome the engine noise.  Or at least, what he thought was singing, but we loved it.   His favorites were Creedence Clearwater Revival: Born on the Bayou—chasin down to hoodo-there and don’t let the man get ya, do what he done to me.  Other times it would be Magic Carpet Ride by Steppenwolf: why don’t you tell your dreams to me; fantasy will set you free. And then of course, he would sing Zeppelin’s Stairway to heaven, but his voice was not as high as Robert Plant: And she’s buying a stairway to heaven…

What I carry deep like a heavy anvil of grief in my soul, is that I was the only survivor in my platoon that day. I was blessed by God, once again, but what I learned as your father died in my arms, was that I now realized what my true mission in life was, on this wretched, painful, and yet beautiful earth. I honor that mission to serve with every ounce of energy given to me by God, until my last breath.

So here I am Suzy.   I finally found you at the ice cream shop.  And by the way, my heart skipped a beat when you told me your favorite ice cream was cookies and cream, because your father would constantly tell us that he couldn’t wait to “get back to the states and eat cookies and cream ice cream with Suzy.”

I am doing what your father requested of me, with honor. But because there are people looking for me, you will not always see me, for your safety, but I will always be watching you, somehow, and if you need me, you can contact Sam, the bartender, at “Sam’s beach bar.”  He knows how to find me. And if Sam can’t help, he will direct you to SRCarson who I have been grooming and opening his eyes to the light of truth, even though he is sometimes as stubborn as mule loaded with rocks.

Thank you for reading this letter from a strange old man. I know it took some courage.  But please know this:  never stop praying to God almighty and his son Jesus, and all courage and blessings will be given to you.

She set the letter down, put it reverently back in the crinkled envelope, smiled, and then got up and poured herself a glass of scotch on the rocks.  And then another, until she could not keep her eyes open anymore, and she entered into the puffy cloud of dream land owned by the little blonde princess called Pookie.

Ollie

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