The First Time Out of Five, Part One

The old man thought, looking back on his life, that there had only been five moments when he had managed to say just the right thing, just the thing that needed to be said just when it was, in a cogent and concise way. Only five.

What was of course far more common were memories of the many times when he had said the wrong thing and lived to regret it. Or when he had said the sort-of right thing, but in an unnecessarily verbose or ambiguous way. Or when he hadn't really said anything: when he had stammered or sat or stood in silence until the moment passed.

But there were at least those five times. That was something.

The first of them came when he was in a geometry class in high school. Way back in a decade well into the previous century, even well into the previous millennium.

His teacher had something she wanted to say to everyone [or maybe not, but everyone should be there as a witness to it] that had nothing to do with conveying the genius of the Pythagorean theorem. It had to do with solving a mystery that disturbed her. The mystery in turn involved a disturbing letter she had received the previous afternoon.

So this morning she waited until everyone was seated. She then said, "I have a letter I'd like to share with you all. It is really quite witty, but the writer, who really brightened my day with this letter yesterday, neglected to sign it."

She then proceeded to read the letter. Justin knew as he heard it that there was nothing witty about this; Justin as an old man was sure that he had been repulsed by the threats and the violence of the language from the first sentence. The letter was written in a slightly jokey tone, as if by someone who thought his threats (a) should carry weight as threats but also (b) should carry a veneer of I-was-only-joking protection on them. But it was a threat.

Justin wondered briefly whether the letter had been mailed to Ms Shrew or had simply been slipped under the door. She had not specified the manner of delivery.

When Ms Shrew was done she asked whether anyone had anything to say about this There was a deadly silence. Then,

"Justin, this does look like your handwriting."

Justin of course had no idea what it looked like but he was confident his hands had never touched it. He remained silent, but the silence of the rest of the room changed in character and deepened.

Louder, now: "JUSTIN, DID YOU HEAR ME?, I SAID THIS LOOKS LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING."

Some possible answers to this occurred to him.

TO BE CONTINUED.