Letters Home

Dearest Mother
          I've arrived in Paris only a matter of hours ago, and already I'm in love with this city. It may surprise you to know that, even after that long flight, I am neither jet-lagged nor tired! I stepped off of the plane and was immediately met by one of the beautiful flight attendants. We have a lunch date set for tomorrow!
          I found my hotel without much difficulty. It's a beautiful old building with ivy scaling the crimson brick sides. I've been told the cellar is filled with homemade French wine! I will write again when I have more to report.

          Love,
                    Jason


Andrea White received the letter from her son with considerable excitement. This trip was a good idea, she knew it. When Jason was in high school, he hardly had the motivation to do his own homework. Jason's guidance counselor would be proud, that wonderful man who'd suggested this trip. Jason was now using his spring break during his sophomore year in college to back pack through Europe.


Dear Mother,
          My date went very well yesterday afternoon. So well, in fact, that I've already arranged to meet her for dinner again, tomorrow night. I've been touring the French countryside since I arrived here, along with some of the regular sights: The Eiffel Tower, Champs Elysee, L'Arc du Triomphe and I am convinced: France must be one of the most beautiful countries in the world.
          I am, however, quite excited about my upcoming journey through Spain. I hear Madrid is just as amazing as Paris. We'll see!
          Love,
                    Jason

The second letter came only two days later, and Andrea was slightly concerned with whether or not he was having such a good time as he claimed. Why write home so frequently if not homesick? But there was also a rewarding feeling in this, as her husband, Brad, teased her: Jason justs misses his Mommy.

Dear Mother,
          Please pardon the tardiness of this letter! I am writing you from Glasgow, Scotland! You might notice that I decided to skip my journey to Madrid and here is why:
         I have been seeing Gabrielle Binoche since that first day in Paris, and growing fonder of her with every visit. I was faced with the choice of continuing with my backpacking adventure alone, or fly with her to Scotland. How often does one fall in love in Paris? Some day, I hope to marry this girl!
          Love,
                    Jason & Gabrielle

"Brad! Brad, look at this," Andrea chuckled happily, clutching the letter to her chest. She discarded the envelope quickly, exactly how it was: Nearly shredded with her excitement to get to her son's letter. "Brad! He's found himself a girlfriend!"

Dear Mother,
          It seems that every time I write to you, it takes me longer and longer to find the time to do just that. Gabrielle and I are in Italy. She took a week off for vacation and decided to travel with me for the duration. And here we are!
          My first and foremost concern is with Italian food: Everyone needs to be eating it. Every restaurant I attend is more stunning than the last, inspiring!
          Here is why I have the time to write to you now: Gabrielle and I, after an amazing three course dinner, decided to take a gondola back to our hotel, just like in all the movies. For me, the trip was not quite as peaceful and romantic as it should have been. In fact, the water was quite crowded!
          While rowing past another gondola and her crew, I noticed a young couple and their small child looking into the water with intense interest. Too intense, in the case of the seven year old girl. As soon as she hit the water, her mother began to scream. For some reason, whether instinct or some presentiment, I jumped in after her. Little Christine is quite safe now, but I am quite wet, and complain of the sanity of the water. It was well worth it, both for the little girl, and Gabrielle calling me 'her hero'.
         Love,
                   Jason


Jason's fingers moved expertly along the old fashioned type writer, rather fond of the incessant click-clack of the mechanism. Almost like playing piano, he decided, but the music is words on paper. 'Dear mother', He began as always, sticking out the tip of his tongue through the corner of his lips in concentration. 'I am writing you now, to tell you all about your new daughter-in-law. We were married only last night, under the breathtaking view of the swiss alps and--' His concentration was broken. The door was open, and he turned to confront whoever had so rudely interrupted his wedding.
         "Mr. White," Said the Orderly, in a soothing voice, his eyebrows arched high in his forehead. His companion, both in white with pens in their breast pockets, was pushing a cart filled with paper cups, like tiny shot glasses containing rainbows of pills instead. "It's time for your medicine."