To Whom It May Concern: by M.J. Garrett (top novels txt) 📖

some sort of meaning to her picture, or was it just a coincidence? Was it just his interpretation of the ink on paper? She didn’t know…but it was odd and a little troubling. Without much thought to the doodle, she went to grab the keys from the office so she could close up the store.

“No…it’s not a vagina, stupid. I don’t know what it is.” She said with a combative tone.
“What does it say? Is that even English? It doesn’t make any sense. Are you sure…it looked like a vagina.”
“What vagina do you know that has this type of writing, Stupid?”
“Look it up online. By the way, have you seen my ex-girlfriend’s vagina? You’d be surprised by the type of writing…well, never mind.” He quickly turns and walks off.

Carla turned off the lights and passed by her art work on the counter. She picked it up and made her way out the door. After locking the door to the video store, she sat in her car with this wrinkled receipt paper in her hand. She took a half smoked menthol cigarette from the ash tray and lit it up. Putting her head back against the head rest of the driver’s seat and cracking the window, she blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth, perfectly aiming the smoke out the window. She quickly glanced at the paper one last time, then crumbles it into a little ball and drops it into the cup holder between the seats of her car.

On her drive home, she passes by store after store. Old run down stores make the history of the small town. The old drug store on the corner of Main Street and East Paige has been a staple of the town since it began in the early 1900’s. The old theater and several mom and pop stores, that sell items that no one wants or uses, line the streets. Large mailboxes, rusted from the lack of use and care, are on each corner. Jewelry stores that hold years of memories in each glass cabinet, from those who have sold their past for little or no gain, serve as reminders that even this small town, the town with no secrets, is not immune to the crush of heartbreak and financial crisis.

Passing car after car and light after light, she pays no attention to the mundane rhythms of road noise and car horns. She sits up close to the steering wheel. With her head always on a swivel, she’s constantly looking for the opportunity to pass the slower traffic. She weaves herself in and out of traffic, making no friends along the way. She doesn’t mind pissing people off, in fact, she actually enjoys it to some degree.

She pulls into her driveway and quickly exits the vehicle. She darts inside to relieve herself of bladder pains. While she sits on the toilet, she takes off her bra from underneath her shirt and pulls her pants off from around her ankles. Leaning over to the pile of clothes on the floor she pulls out a pair of blue and white flowered pajama pants. After she finished relieving herself, she stands up and flushes the toilet. Turning around and looking in the mirror, she says…

“To Whom It May Concern:
I need purpose. I need something. I need escape.”

After a long hot bath, she dresses herself in boxers and a bath robe. Out of habit, she counts the amount of steps it takes to get to the kitchen from the bathroom…six. Six steps from the bathroom to the kitchen and six steps from the kitchen to the couch. She sits down; crossing her legs like a kid in kindergarten and without looking, reaches up behind her and pulls the remote off the top of the couch. Carla then does her ritual browsing through every channel until she finds herself interested in a meaningless Lifetime movie.

“Guys, do you want to be bigger, longer lasting, and full of energy?” The low and soft female voice comes through the television speakers. “Ladies, do you want your man to last longer? Want your man to be larger to reach those deep unexplored parts of your body? 1-800-555-9969…” This is clearly the number is a euphemism.
So many commercials; commercials about upcoming movies that share their desire to hire the worst possible actors to fill the 3 minute cyberspace hole left for enticing each lonely woman or man to keep their television ratings up long enough to pay the next bill.

Carla watches and laughs at the thought of these 60 year old men bragging about their new found libido. Fake actor wives sit and smile in agreement, giving the illusion that these pills work and make their sexual lives a dream come true.

She reaches for her cell phone, which she always takes from her pant pockets when she kicks them off in the bathroom, and on her way to the kitchen. She usually tosses her phone onto the couch, but it’s not there. She searches through the couch cushions; pulling out loose change, old potato chips, and candy wrappers. No phone. She walks back to the bathroom to see if maybe she left it on the counter top by the toothpaste covered toothbrushes that are stowed in the sea shell decorated toothbrush holder. She counts 12 steps.

She locates the cell phone on the counter top, but something else catches her attention. “That’s weird.” she says to herself. “The toilet seat is up?” She cautiously looks around the bathroom. She opens up the shower curtain but everything looks normal. Just the way she left it. She bends down to pick the towel up off the floor and hangs it on the hook on the back of the door. “Still a couple of days of usage from this thing.” she says, again talking to herself.

As she returns to the kitchen, she recounts her steps. She rinses out a glass from inside the sink and turns to the refrigerator. She opens the freezer and pulls out a container of Chocolate Dibs ice cream balls. She stands there for a second and then smiles. Talking to the container of Dibs, “I’ve been waiting for you all day! Now it’s just me, you, and 3 hours of a horrible Lifetime movie. Do you have it in you?

To Whom It May Concern:
Give me purpose. Make me special.


CHAPTER 7

The morning sun slipped through the curtain and gently touched her face. Carla closed her eyes tightly and then let out a little sigh as she performed her morning stretched. As she lay naked under the covers, she smiled at the thought of the quick run to the bathroom. Hoping that the morning ritual would be different, she knew that this morning would hold no surprises.

After she dressed, she poured herself a bowl of cereal and walked to the kitchen window to see what the world had in store for the day. She smiled as she saw the neighborhood stray cats walking on her neighbor’s freshly washed car. He seemed to hate anything touching his car. Actually, the thought that she had was that he hated everything. He never smiled, never waved, and never said hello. All he ever did was smoke on his porch and go to work. His punctuality was eerie. The same time every day, he would make the march from his porch to his car. It was like watching a movie over and over again. Nothing out of place! “I don’t think I could do that if I tried!” she said to herself as she picked the strawberries out of the bowl with her fingers. With a giddy and childlike anticipation she watched his door slowly open.

With nothing out of place, he quietly slipped out of his house and silently closed the door behind him. He lived alone so there was no one to wake, but he practiced the courtesy none the less. He meticulously walked from his door to the car, counting every step. Twelve to be exact! That is including the 3 steps from his porch down to the driveway. Why was it that he played out his day to the same beat every day? She sweetly grinned at what his life must be like or what the inside of his house looked like. She giggled at the thought. She found herself with a mild crush on the guy next door. He looked distinguished and proper. Dressed in a black suit and tie with black dress shoes, he was very well groomed. With not a hair was out of place and his eyes covered by dark black sunglasses, he seemed as if he was oblivious to her spying on him.

She was so intrigued by this man. What did he do? What did he think? What movies did he like? All these questions ran through her head as she found herself pushing her head up against her kitchen window, flattening her forehead and nose, trying to keep him in view as he drove down the street.

Carla gathered the trash from the kitchen and bathroom then walked down to the end of the driveway to put it in the garbage can. Her garbage can was filled with boxes from one of the neighbors recent birthday parties, so she opened up the neighbors to see if there was room in his. His garbage can contained nothing. Everyone had secrets. No one had secrets.

As she walked back up the driveway, she detoured over to his porch. Without looking, she lifted the lid to his mailbox and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Menthol lights! It’s been quite some time since she indulged in a good cigarette…especially one that was stolen from the neighbor.

Pressing her face against the outside of his window on his porch, she could barely see through her own reflection. Everything was so particular. His living room decorated in black leather sofa and love seat, black leather ottoman, and a flat screen TV that had to bigger than her 32” that was in her living room. Framed scrolls were placed on his wall to decorate the empty spaces. He had a glass kitchen table that was supported by iron legs, black modern chairs surrounded the table, and black placemats with white dishes placed perfectly on top of each one. A small Japanese flower rested in a small black clay pot in the center of the table.

“It’s so beautiful.” She said to herself. Every single thing is beautiful and so coordinated; not like her apartment. Her apartment was filled with furniture that was pieced together by unwanted furniture from moving neighbors. Her maroon plaid couch was supposed to tie the room together. Her light colored oak particle board entertainment center bowed from the weight of her old television. She had two cherry colored wooden end tables that held up two different colored lamps. Each lamp represented a different generation of décor. One of the lamps was from an