It pains me to be writing this, you there, off fighting from some creepy foxhole, eating rations out of some tin can, while I sit here at Shay Pierre's with your brother Wally, dining on lobster and drinking fine, imported wine. The violin player reminds me of you, even though I don’t remember you ever playing the violin.
Your little sports car has suffered a small dent, but Wally says you can get that fixed when you get back. He ordered an additional lobster. He said one was for you, although he’s already eaten them both.
I’ve been keeping all your letters in that little cedar box on my nightstand. One of these days I’ll get up the courage to open and read them. I expect they might have sand or dust on them, so I’ll be sure to open them outside once I do. Wally said I shouldn’t get them close to the bedspread, because it is too large for the washing machine.
By the time Wally returned from
Canada, the Army had stopped sending him draft notices. We expect they just gave up. We’re thinking about moving out of your mom’s
basement and getting an apartment across from Applebee’s. Wally thinks he can get a job there, and I
can wait on tables. That’s different
than waiting for you to come home, but I think it is spelled the same.
Best Wishes
Suzie
Good luck with the war.
I hope we win.
No comments:
Post a Comment