A Letter

Editor's Note: The following letter, concerning the Moustache-a-thon Check-in of the last week, shows how the benefits of a Moustache-a-thon are not confined to the raising of money!

To Whom It May Concern:

I’m writing this letter for the purposes of your publication, to express a wonderful thing that’s happened to me. One night this past week my life changed forever. The evening started as usual. I was minding myself, sorting a collection of nail-clippings and eyelashes in my lair, which is coincidentally in the cellar of a certain establishment meant for nightly celebration. All I know is what I’ve heard, that this place is for some reason called an ‘Asylum’, that it’s on a street called ‘18th North West’, and in a place called ‘Adams Morgan’. I’ve lived here ever since I was young and my parents went out one night for groceries and forgot to come back. When the new proprietors bought the place, I simply hid in a crawl space and have remained there for years of business hours.

Every night I hear the merry-makers stomping around above me. A few will start to trickle down and sit before a large, bearded fellow who pours them brownish waters with a certain film on top. After a while, more people arrive and food is brought to them. Always the mirth becomes inescapable and the people forget about their plates. I’m usually able to sneak a few scrumptious breads and fried meats, though it’s harder now given my size. Still, somehow I go unnoticed. That is, until one night this past week.

Amidst the clamor and dim lights, the cracking of smoothed stones on a nearby table (a popular sport), I was approached, while leaning towards a plate, by a young woman who exulted in my appearance. “Oh my gosh,” she exclaimed, (I can quote it verbatim) “your moustache is AMAZING.” I came to discover that the hair on my face, particularly that which sprouts from my upper lip, has a name and is considered quite stylish. I explained in as level a tone as I could that I’ve had this moustache for as long as I can remember and that no other hair has ever grown from my cheeks or neck. As a child my father even called it my ‘third eyebrow’.

Soon enough, this angelic sprite had me introduced to a plethora of others like me, who as well grew only moustaches. Some of the young women had even drawn pictures of moustaches and hung them beneath their noses! (It was a real carnival) We talked for hours on everything they knew, which was plentiful. They offered me waters, which I pretended I hadn’t tried before and so drank watching the way others consumed carefully and during breaks in conversation. I began to feel relaxed, as though I could present myself to any person in the world with the utmost poise. The more we talked, the more I wanted to know.

I came to find out that they were all apart of a noble troupe that travels the area promoting ‘literacy skills’ to pupils. I joked that they all resembled a sort of Johnny Appleseed, and in fact, they do have a name: the Capitol Letters Writing Center, or CLWC for short.

I also learned that their week had gone well and so they’d come to the establishment to celebrate. It being too crowded upstairs, they’d come down. For the month of March, they’d been trying (and still are) to gather contributions for their noble cause, and by this past Tuesday they’d raised over $4,000 (!!) from the good people of the area. One gentleman, a certain Mike Scolise, even earned a top prize for his efforts (a splendid mug printed with fine pictorials). As the night progressed, the young women of the group recited their poetry (through an amplifying cone for sake of noise) all in the humorous and rhythmic ‘limerick’ form. Each of the poets gave me tearful fits for sheer beauty. Except one.

A certain young woman decided to make her lines vulgar and topical, pure gossip. To my surprise, however, everyone squealed with delight as she mentioned their names alongside certain unmentionables. It is a strange world, indeed. Still, I’m beginning to enjoy it. I forgave this young woman. She even brought the remaining CLWC members, myself now included, tiny waters at the end of the night, so that we might praise the many kind hearts we’d known. This drink, I must say, injured my throat, though I thanked her all the same. By the time everyone was leaving, one last gentleman arrived. He called himself a ‘cow boy’, somehow relating this to the style of his moustache; I suspect, however, he was actually some form of beast. Usually I’d savor the chance to observe such a strange being, but suddenly I felt like doing something I hadn’t for a great while. I kindly thanked everyone for their kindness and company, said my goodbyes, and walked out into the night.

(Feel free to use this letter at your discretion. My only hope is that it will move a few of your readers in the way that I was moved.)

Sincerely,

Adam J Pellegrini, New & Loyal CLWC Member