It's me, of course. Who else do you know who does things as old fashioned as writing a letter? But I thought that you might welcome one, and besides, even if I were standing right in front of you, you wouldn't hear a word I say, now would you dear? I say that in every sense of the phrase, and in the most loving way.
I wish I could be there when some stuffy Abbott or whoever hands you this, with the scripty-girly handwriting on it. Let's give them something to talk about! I know you'd like that song...it breaks my heart that you can't hear music, apart from your beloved bells. But never mind. How are the bells?!? I'm telling you, Q, if everyone had something they loved and love to do, as you do, the world would be a better place. And a lot louder, yikes! When you swing on the bell ropes, your face lights right up, did you know that? You are truly a man in his element. It's a beautiful thing.
So, tell me...what about this Gypsy girl you have been telling me about? Esmeralda, that's a pretty name, and to hear you tell it, she's all that and a bag of fireworks. Have you talked to her? Or are you just worshiping her from afar? I'm glad that you are feeling these things for someone. I am. But I fret about you, too, dear heart.
There are no secrets between us. I am your friend. Wild horses couldn't change that. And so, Mr. Bell Ringer Sir, will you forgive me if I say a few things? Do you promise not to be angry, or sulk, or think that I don't care for you? You can be a pistol, sometimes. Don't bother to deny! See now, how well I know you?
I know, of course, about how you were left on the cathedral stairs as an infant. It is a terrible thing, a haunting thing, to believe that one was not wanted. Oh, Q, how often have I wished that I could just somehow reach inside of you and fix that. You do bring out the Mother Hen in me. And, too, I know that you believe you are ugly. Q! If you could see yourself with my eyes, you would know beyond any shadow of a doubt that you are not. Will you believe me? I have never lied to you, have I? You are not ugly. Would I hang out with you, and write you letters all the way from America, if you were ugly? I think not!
Think about this, please: who has God chosen to be closest to Him, up in the magnificent bell tower of the most glorious cathedral in the world? You, Magoo! Who sees to it that His voice never goes silent? Again, you my dear. And as I have already said, the joy you bring to what you do, is the most beautiful devotion He could ever receive. He knows that. He sees. He loves you, sugar pea. Me, too.
That is why I am concerned about this Gypsy beauty of yours. I hate to give away trade secrets, but I have to break it to you...not all girls are as fabulous as your faithful letter writer here. Yes, true. She doesn't know you the way that I do. She may be all about a handsome face and a noble white steed. What I'm saying, Q, is that I don't want you to be hurt. Would it be all right if I follow behind at twenty paces, just to make sure this gal is on the up and up? I'm teasing now, but in a way, I really wish I could.
You see, dear Q, I know how you are. Just the way you love your bells with your whole beautiful, faithful, glorious, simple heart, you'll do the same with this girl, whether she has earned that kind of love or not. All I'm saying is, don't get carried away with your bad self, dude. Take it slow. See what she's about. If she is as wonderful as you think she is, she'll see what I see. And if she doesn't, then...well, you'll still have me. You'll always have me.