The Evemen Letters | I

Dear Faithful Reader,

I pray you have been keeping warm during this frosty season; that life has been treating you fair and well. Christmas was as jolly and pleasant as ever. The weather had been particularly lippy at the beginning, but it did make for especially pleasurable walks and afternoons spent in deep thought (with a cup of tea, of course.) I hope, also, that you have kept out of any unnecessary trouble (necessary trouble is an entirely different matter).

I oft find myself rambling in these sort of places, so I shall try whole heartedly to be brief and succinct, for your time and mine. But, do forgive me if I fail in the slightest and take far too much of your attention up; you know too well I have an annoying habit to yok.

For tonight, I resolve to tell you about last Thursday, where I met the most intriguing individual.

As soon as I saw him, I was immedaitely drawn in. He had such a bounce in his step, a spring of life and vitality. A hop one could say. A hop so grand, so big and so mighty. I feared if I didn’t hold onto him he would jump too high, too far, all the way up to the stars, or to the clouds where the astronaut lives. I couldn’t bring myself to imagine such a dreadful scenario, for, as you also know, the astronaut hates unexpected visitors at unexpected times, and the current time, when all this took place, was completely and truly unacceptable. It was 10:32am.

Thus, the pursuit to hold him down and protect him from such a frightful encounter fully enveloped me.

Well…it didn’t go quite as planned as you’ll read.

I pursured his tail, followed him endlessly. We ended up in a car park when he lived quite harmlessly. He had made his abode in the queerist of places, and, though I sincerely try to refrain from unessential judgement, I wondered deeply on how he kept the place warm. There were cracks and holes of all different shapes and sizes. Some large and square, others small and thin; like a knife cut. To my utter astonishment, there was even some twigs and feathers nestled intricately into the floorboards. Upon the shelves, there were half-eaten worms and egg shells. Well, as far I could see from the position I was in. It was definitely slightly curved, and extraordinarily organic. Very…modern?

My goodness, I thought to myself. I should have to call in the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker to sort out all this mess! (For I had grown quite fond of him at this point, and my task took on a less preventative role, from him intruding upon the astronaut, to a more wholesome one, as you’ll later find out.) You’ll also know the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker all owe me favour from last time, so I needn’t have any worry about depending on them for their help in this predictedly arduous task. Although, they would help regardless.

I realised after coming back from my thoughts that I had lost sight of him! The sweat that lined my brow when I thought the worst had come true… It was only when I saw him sitting at his kitchen table, in his rather draughty home, that my heart resumed its natural rhythm and I could wipe the perspiration from my forehead, with the handkerchief Mr. Yakkers gave me a fornight ago.

Unfortuantely for me, the location of the home was slightly unaccessible, for I am on the shorter side and my arms were unable to reach. Thus, I resigned to watching and waiting. I did catch some bizarre stares from many onlookers, who most likely thought I was torrididdle, but I remained steadfast in my pursuit and desire.

Hours floated down the river of time, with the sun even beginning to set (for now the time was roughly 16:37). I had ignored the nagging pulls of my hungry stomach and even the dehydration that lay in my mouth. You must be asking yourself, and most rightly, why on earth would I, a gentlemen of high society, waste my time in such a fruitless endeavour on a perfectly sat Thursday, and, to that, I answer with a reason that will satisfy any further questions along that line.

To be his friend.

Though, initially I wanted to prevent an awkward telling off from the astronaut, over time I grew so found of him and, rather quite quickly, I developed a soft spot, right here-… just above the-…if you can you see where-….ah, nevermind. Honestly, I just couldn’t stand the thought that this young man had no partner to face life, with all its troubles and woes. Or the idea he had no one to share his joys and successes. That was, as a gentlemen, a completely unacceptable, impermissible, intolerable, notion to even entertain. It was now my duty to be this fellows friend, and by my honour I will do exactly that.

Though I must admit, I had noticed earlier in the day, when he was out and about, he did have an unusual tendancy to eat off the ground. Well, my good reader, I am fully aware we are in hard times; that food is more expensive than a piece of meat; but I must say, there are some limitations as to how a well esteemed individual should properly behave in society. Regardless of this surprising behaviour, it did nothing to dissuade me from wanting to cultivate a friendship with him, and teaching him some manners along the way.

It wasn’t until 21:47 that I had realised, to my greatest astonishment, the fellow wasn’t even at home anymore! How I missed that I hardly can tell. All I know is that an empty kitchen lay before my eyes, a living room unlived in, a bedroom with no one sleeping in. Immediately, I was overcome with fear and anxiety. I searched desperately for him, and venturing even to call out to him, though at this point I did not know his name yet, I resorted to ‘Young fellow!’ as a starting point. My throat had grown sore and my eyes heavy. Night had stained the car park, I was without a lantern or light, the leeries had yet to come out, I dare say I know why, and I was truly beginning to lose a slice of hope. I sat on the edge on the pavement, in complete darkness, sinking into despair and sorrow, salty sweat forming in my eyes. I was nearly about to pick myself up and attempt to wander hopelessly home in the pitch black, in a most despondent mood mind you… until I heard the most perculiar sound.

A quiet nudging.

An annoying, hopeful pestering.

A noise full life, love, peace and joy but…on a very small scale.

I turned to my right, and quizzically looked down. My gosh! I exclaimed. My bewilderment nearly sent me backwards, though I was sitting down.

By the edge of my boot, something was persistently pecking at my foot. You wouldn’t believe my amazment when I found out that this whole time. The entire day. The full hours spent in relentless worry, partial minutes paid for in anticipation, quarterly seconds exchanged for excitement. The friendship I had been pursuing, the deep connection chasing as a weapon to use against trials and tribulation. The friend I had been eager to meet, passionate to converse with, anxious to get to know, nervous to know his name….was a Wagtail?

As you know, I’m not one to judge, unessentially of course, but it did come as quite a shock. I’m sure you won’t be surprised to understand that it is in the deepest nights when we can truly see those before us, and even then- Oh No! Look at the time! I said what I wouldn’t, and did what I shouldn’t! I rambled and tumbled into this letter. I stuffed it with far too many words and fed it with barely enough time. Nevertheless, I expect you’re chuckling at the obscure events that took place last Thursday, and you’ll be happy to know that me and Mr. Archet, as he is called, are now firmly friends. An inseperable pair, or so I’m told. Mr. Archet is particularly fond of Dorset Apple Cake, though, I’m ashamed to say, Mrs. Heather speciality lies in a Somerset Apple Cake. They are remarkably different, don’t you know? One of them is round and has apples in it, the other is…well…round and also has apples in it…wait a second- Oh goodness me! I’ve done it again, I’m rambling! Next time, you must stop me before I say too much about nothing.

Anyways, I’m sure you are now tucked under a warm woolen blanket with a steaming cup of camomile, by a roaring fire, and reading to your hearts content. The only acceptable way to spend a Sunday evening, mind you. For me, though, I have little minutes to spend idly reading tonight. The clock strikes 21:00 and I’ve got much to prepare for, as I’m heading to the City of Oolite this coming week.

I implore you to wait with joy for next weeks issue. A little bit of patience is a miracle medicine for the mind!

Until next time

Your Affection Writer,

Mr. Evemen