Read Olaf 5 here (see “Similar Posts” at the bottom of this post for any earlier entries)
Round 6 Challenge: Incorporate a White Russian and the words “over the line” into your next passage, which should be no more than 500 words.
The title of Olga’s message to him was “coming to hagan harbor on thursday.” Had it been a TV show, Ron would have spluttered up his drink. Instead he just sat in stupefied silence and read on:
i was so surprised and so happy to get friended from you on facebook – i have to tell you that at first i was nervous to write to you because of… well you know of course. it’s been so long. thats why i waited to write you this news… my husband and my two children have always wanted to visit america so we decided at long last to come so I can show them the places from my history…
i never would imagined you were still living in hagan’s harbor… i always guessed you went back to your family’s town. but i should have known you wouldnt by how stubborn you are…
we arrive this friday aug 28 until sunday sep 6 and will be staying at hagan harbor lodge. i would like it for you to meet my 15 year son Ransu and my 24 year daughter Annikki. they have grown up hearing stories from me about the fishing life on hagans harbor.
i cant wait to hear about you. (your family?) there is no information about your personal life on your facebook page. you always were private… i hope you get this message and we can have a chance to catch up with our lives. do you still drink your rum and coca cola and play “Walk Over the Line” until everyone’s ears falls off? Ekkk!
with wishes of love and happiness, olga”
Ron shut down the desktop and sat there a long time. Then he went to the bedroom and returned to the office with a white envelope and a candle. The envelope was clean and smooth except for along the jagged top fold where it had been torn open by finger. Ron turned the envelope over and looked at the return address and the faint stamped date – 1971. Inside was a yellowed handwritten letter. He lit a candle and, after switching off the light, unfolded the letter behind the flame. The letter was stained and creased with wear and in places the ink was smudged. Ron read it through slowly and by the time he came to the end his eyes had reddened. He folded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope. Holding the envelope between his thumb and forefinger, he put a corner into the flame. Thin black paper chars floated off as the fire moved along the paper. When the fire had traveled down to his fingertips, he dropped the paper torch into the empty wastebasket.
Ron did not write back to Olga. But by the time Friday came around, his bar was freshly stocked with vodka and kahlua and there was a gallon of milk in the fridge.