PEN  FRIENDS

by Phyllis Owen

  Janet sat staring into space.  It was seven months after her divorce and nine months since Ted had walked out.  She could remember the day as if it were yesterday.  Without warning, at breakfast one morning, he announced, ‘I want a divorce.  I’ve met someone else.’

  Taken aback, she had stared at him, stunned.  Recovering quickly, she snarled, ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?  At your age!’ She stopped and looked at him thoughtfully.  ‘It couldn’t be wonder-woman, Gwen, at the office?’  He regularly sang her praises but she never suspected any hanky-panky because Gwen was only thirty-two, a year younger than their daughter.

  ‘If you must know, it is,’ he snapped.

  ‘I can’t believe it!’ she exclaimed.  ‘You’re nearly sixty-four, almost old enough to be her grandfather.’

  His face reddened and he jumped to his feet.  ‘I don’t have to listen to your histrionics, Janet.  I’ll collect my things this evening.’

  ‘They’ll be waiting for you on the doorstep.  AND, don’t sue me I’ll sue you,’ she shouted at his retreating back.  Then, as if something hard had hit her in the face, she stood there staring at the doorway willing him to come back.

  She smiled at the memory.  As the months went by the pain of his leaving had lessened.  It now seemed as if her past belonged to another lifetime.  She had come a long way since that day.  The divorce went off smoothly with no long delays and arguments.  Much to her surprise he gave her everything she asked for.  She supposed that after thirty-five years of marriage his guilty conscience must have told him she deserved a fair deal.

  In the beginning she grudgingly admitted that she had missed his company.  It had been lonely in the big house.     In retrospect, she realized that they had been drifting apart for years, especially since their daughter married and later immigrated to England.  It was as if she had been the only bond holding them together.

  Ted was an Assistant General Manager of a large bank and was often away from home attending meetings and seminars.  When he was home he would blob in front of the TV, fall asleep, and then drag himself off to bed.

    Over the past few months she came to understand that Ted wasn’t the only one to blame for the break up of their marriage.  In a way she felt sad that they had been so blind as not to read the signs that they were heading for disaster.  She had her own lifestyle spending a few evenings a week playing bridge and most weekends, if they didn’t have a dinner engagement, she played tennis at the club while Ted pottered in the garden.  ‘Too late for ‘if onlys’, she chided herself.

  After the divorce her life had changed drastically.  Her married friends, who were mainly the wives of Ted’s colleagues, avoided her.  Dinner invitations dried up.  She understood why it could be embarrassing for everyone to have her around with Ted and his girlfriend.  

  She broke away from her old lifestyle and recently sold the house and moved into a townhouse in Sandton, on the outskirts of Johannesburg.  Resigning from the tennis club, she joined a small group of woman who played tennis at a friend’s home and in the townhouse complex she discovered a group of women who played bridge and they were only too pleased to welcome her.

  One rainy weekend, suffering from a dose of influenza, she idly picked up the Sunday paper and paged through it listlessly, casually glancing through the advertisements.  One caught her eye.

  ‘What’s this?’ she mumbled and read, ‘Elderly gentleman looking for a pen-friend, a woman between the ages of fifty and sixty.’  She laughed.  ‘I suppose at fifty-eight I qualify.  I’m impressed that whoever it is wants to correspond with someone of his vintage.  That’s a novelty.’  This intrigued her.   ‘I’ve never had a pen-friend and as I’ve nothing to lose, I think I’ll give it a try.’  She bit her lip thoughtfully.  ‘It’s a Johannesburg box number.  Who knows, one day we may get together.’

  Chuckling, she sat own at her desk.  Slipping a sheet of paper into the typewriter she began to type.  Since selling her home in Parktown, Johannesburg, where they had a postal street delivery, she had had to hire a post box in Sandton.  A post box is good, she thought, I’d rather he not know where I live.  One can’t be too careful.  Who knows, he could be a charlatan preying on wealthy widows!

  She decided to write a friendly letter without giving too many details about herself except to say she was a divorcee and lived on her own in a townhouse complex.  She told him how intrigued she was by his request to correspond with an older woman.  When she had finished the letter, and on an impulse or a light bulb moment her friend Roz would call it, she signed her name Amanda James.  She laughed and shook her head.  ‘What made that name plop into my mind? 

  Amanda James had been a friend of hers when she was in kindergarten.  ‘But it’s a good idea.  It can be my pen name.  I feel vulnerable writing to a stranger and need more time to get to know him.’  She didn’t like lying but there were times when there was no alternative, she consoled herself.

  Ten days went by and she hadn’t heard from him so she dismissed it from her mind.  ‘He must have been inundated with letters and mine wasn’t even good enough to be short-listed,’ she told herself.

  Then, out of the blue, three weeks to the day she wrote her letter, she received his reply, a neatly typed computer print out letter.  He apologized for the delay saying he had received forty-eight letters, and that it took some time to read them all.  Most of them he discarded.  Some of the letters even contained photographs and marriage proposals.

  Janet laughed.  ‘What weirdos!’

  He had chosen three to reply to and did she mind being one of the three?  He also mentioned that he would like them to correspond on a strictly friendly basis and that he wasn’t interested in finding a marriage partner.

  A flash of annoyance passed over her and then she sniggered.  ‘He’s either brutally honest or a fool.  How not to win friends and influence people.’  But she was intrigued.  What didn’t help was his name.  Tyrone Myburg!  Tyrone was one of the names she disliked.  It was so off-putting!  She chuckled.  When she was expecting Jessica Ted had joked and said if it was a boy he should have the name of Tyrone.  She had thrown a cushion at him.

  At first she thought she would laugh off answering his letter but as she read it she was impressed by his honesty.  He wrote fondly of his love for history and art, but there was nothing about himself or if he was still working or a pensioner.

  That evening she sat and typed him a long, newsy letter, surprised to find how easy the words seemed to flow.  She avoided any intimate details about herself.

  Her letter was answered promptly.  This went on for almost six months.  His letters became the highlight of her life and she eagerly looked forward to receiving them.  During the week she often jotted down bits and pieces of information she thought would be of interest to him.  Occasionally his letters arrived from different parts of the country.  She desperately wanted to ask him if he had been on business trips but decided against it.  ‘Keep it strictly impersonal, woman,’ she reminded.

  As the months passed she felt a new person emerge from the old, a more contented and happy one. This gave her a sense of freedom and peace.

  Then, out of the blue, she received a letter from Tyrone asking her to meet him for lunch at a restaurant in Sandton.  ‘I’ve booked a table for two on Friday at twelve thirty,’ he wrote.  ‘I hope you’ll be there.’

  ‘Help!  That’s tomorrow,’ she yelped.  Her heart thumped with excitement, or could it be fear?  What if he didn’t like her?   What if she didn’t like him?  Tyrone didn’t conjure up visions of a nice looking elderly gent.  If so, this could mean the end of their friendship, or the beginning of a more meaningful one?  Was she prepared to take a chance?

  She could write and explain that she would prefer to leave things as they were.  Yet she was curious to know why he had suddenly decided to meet her.

  That night she slept badly, trying to force all thoughts of the meeting from her mind, awaking the following morning curious and determined to meet him.

  It was twelve-fifteen when she arrived at the restaurant.  Looking around she found a reserved table for two.  It was empty and she made her way towards it.  On the way she spotted another table for two and to her horror she saw Ted, her ex, sitting there.  He was the last person she wanted to see and could well do without his presence there.

  He waved and called, ‘Janet!’ and beckoned to her.

  Hesitating for only a moment, she walked to him.  She hadn’t seen him since the divorce.  He looked well and extraordinarily handsome.  Her heart leapt.  She became angry that he still had that affect on her and brushed it away.

  ‘Meeting Gwen?’ she asked, offhandedly.

  He chuckled, his grey eyes twinkling.  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.  That episode died before it even took off.  She married one of the company lawyers about six months ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she began.  For some reason she felt elated.

  He interrupted.  ‘Don’t be.  I’m not.  Are you meeting someone?’

  ‘Yes, a friend.’

  ‘Sit down for a few minutes.’  His voice was pleading.

  She glanced across at the table in the corner.  It was still empty.  Chewing her lip, she replied, ‘All right, but only for a moment.’

  ‘You’re looking good, Janet.’

  She nodded absentmindedly.  ‘I’m well,’ and added, ‘I suppose you know Jessica is pregnant at long last?’ 

  ‘Yes, she phoned me a couple of weeks ago.’

  Her eyes widened.  ‘Of course, it was your birthday.  Sixty-five, wasn’t it?  You’ll be retiring soon.’

  ‘You remembered,’ he teased.

  Forcing a smile she peered anxiously at the table in the corner and then at her watch. Twelve thirty-five!  He’s late.  A feeling of irritation passed over her.  All of a sudden panic seemed to ambush her and she wanted to escape.  She stood up.

  ‘Wait, Janet,’ Ted’s face clouded and he looked sheepish.  Then swallowing hard he added, ‘I’ve a confession to make.’

  A certain note in his voice alarmed her and she scrutinized him closely.  Then something in her mind clicked and she could feel the hair on the nape of her neck prickle.  Could it be possible?  She frowned.  ‘Tyrone?’

  He nodded.

  She clicked her tongue in irritation and flopped back into the chair.  Dumbfounded, she stared at him for a long moment, thinking she had to be mistaken.

  ‘I was so happy with my newfound correspondent,’ he began, ‘that I wanted to make my peace with you.  This was about three weeks ago.  I phoned Jessica for your address. I wanted to write and apologize for the hurt I caused you.  Can you imagine my astonishment when I recognized your box number?  I pleaded with Jessica not to mention she had given it to me.  It took me a couple of days to get used to the idea that you were my pen friend.   Once I got over the shock, a feeling of such happiness that I hadn’t ever experienced before came over me.  I couldn’t believe my good luck.  I hoped it would be possible for us to have a second chance.  But I wondered how you would react when you found out the truth?  Disappointed?’

  Janet stared uncomprehendingly at him.  She opened her mouth to retort, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand.

  ‘Please hear me out.  I fell in love with my pen friend.  She is sensitive, amusing and intelligent.  What impressed me even more, she didn’t criticize the old bugger who had walked out on her.  It was then I realized how little I knew about you, until now, and I was sad to think of all the years we had lost.’

  Flabbergasted, Janet flew into a rage.  ‘How could you deceive me like this?’ she hissed.

  ‘Calm down, please.  It works both ways.  I didn’t know it was you.  If you knew who it was from the beginning would you have written to me?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Exactly!’

  Curiosity overcame her anger.  ‘What made you write for a pen friend in the first place?  It’s not the type of thing I would have expected from the AGM of a company.’

  He gave a wry laugh.  ‘Even AGM’s can be lonely.  A few months after our divorce I knew I had made a big mistake, but by then it was too late.  One evening I happened to notice the advertisements in the newspaper for pen friends and thought I’d send in my ..er.. specifications and see what happens.  I wasn’t looking for a marriage partner, just a companion.’

  ‘You made that very clear in your letter,’ Janet came in cynically, ‘What happened to the other two ladies of your choice?’

  ‘They never bothered to reply.  Apparently they weren’t prepared to remain just friends.’

  ‘Why a non de plume, and Tyrone of all names?’

  He chuckled.  ‘It just came to me.  I remembered your dislike of the name.’  He became thoughtful.  ‘I didn’t want to use my own name.  I suppose one feels embarrassed or vulnerable would be a better word for it.  You obviously felt the same way.’ 

  She nodded and bit her lip, frowning, before putting in, ‘Computers and typewriters are excellent disguises for handwriting.  Now and again I thought some of your phrases familiar, yet your love of history and art did fool me.  I knew you were interested in them but didn’t think you were as passionate.’

  He grunted.  ‘It just shows how little we knew about each other.  I was too busy with my career to bother about the things I enjoyed doing and I’m ashamed of the way I neglected you and even Jessica.’  He cleared his throat noisily before adding, ‘You surprised me too.  Your letters were well written and interesting.  Ever thought about becoming a writer?’

  She nodded.  ‘Occasionally, over the years I had dreams of becoming one.’

  A waiter came up to them with the menu.

  ‘Later, please,’ Ted told him.

  He nodded and walked away.

  Ted glanced at her, frowning.  ‘I’m glad I changed my name.  I’m glad you did too.’ 

  She snorted. ‘I would have thrown your letter into the bin.’

  He nodded and looked at her tentatively.  ‘Do you think there’s any chance of a reconciliation?’

  She shrugged helplessly and sighed.  I don’t know.  ‘You’ve had three weeks to get over the shock but it’s still devastating to me.’  With a slight shudder, she continued, ‘I’ve adjusted my life to live without you and have found a certain amount of peace and contentment with myself.  I’m not sure I want to give it up.’

 Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he gave her an apologetic grin.  ‘I can understand, and I can also understand your shock at finding me instead of the person you expected to see.  I’m sorry this was such a blunt way of introducing myself into your life again, but I knew of no other way to do it.’  He handed her a card.  ‘This has my new address and home phone number.’ 

  She took it offhandedly and slipped it into her purse.

  He asked persuasively, ‘Now that we are here, please stay for lunch.’

  She took a deep breath and shook her head.  ‘No, I won’t stay.’

  Shrugging helplessly, he gave her a twisted smile.  ‘I hope to hear from you.’

   She didn’t reply and left the restaurant, her mind in a whirl.  Then her face broke into a radiant smile and she felt exhilarated.  ‘No, Ted my mate, I’m not prepared to give up my freedom, not for you, not for anyone.’

  It was about two weeks later when, to her surprise, she received a letter from Jerome.  A spark of anger ran through her.  ‘What’s he playing at?’ she snapped.  Sighing, she opened the letter and read the newsy diatribe.  It was as if their meeting had never taken place.

  She bit her lip thoughtfully and then burst out laughing.  Picking up a sheet of paper she put it into the typewriter and began her reply.

                                                     The end