Letters

I remember when you and your cousin Ann came to stay with your grandmother one summer weekend when you were 17. I first saw you down at the pond. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, you made sure of that. Then Sunday morning at church…temptation disguised as the face of an angel.
 
You went back home but we wrote…
 
***
 
I’ve been rereading a couple of the letters that you’ve sent me over the years...some with a graceful fade into a yellowed tinge.
 
And it seems as days the time that’s flown.
 
How many pages did I crumple trying to find the words? But sometimes the feelings just flowed.

I guess e-mail has killed off letters except for eccentrics like us.
 
My eyes trace the jot and curve of each letter like the faces of old friends, your handwriting as familiar to me as the sound of your voice. And I can almost hear you speaking the words I read. My imagination is funny that way about you. A few letters still carry the faint scent of perfume ~ and memories of those moments when I was too close to you for words. I smile, for our lips sometimes had a mind of their own when we spoke from our hearts and not our heads…and I wish that you were here that my lips might wander in search of my thoughts…
 
You liked to joke that you always knew what I was thinking. What could I say – but what I always said, "I was a clairvoyaint and I was reacting to what you’d be thinking in just a moment." A tired joke to any but us…for we never tired of the kisses that followed.
 
And I smile again at memories.
 
***
 
I remember the semester you spent studying art in France and you wrote me every week. If joy and life were contained in words their surely found in yours.
 
And the memories of skiing in Colorado, of Fort Lauderdale, Jamaica, and our trip to Spain where the gypsy in your soul fell in love with Flemenco guitar.
 
But you were meant for city lights, and galleries and shows.
And I, for quiet country nights and watching things that grow
Yet still, we're drawn
Kindred souls
At every chance to be together
 
Ah, here’s the letter – I’d told you I was thinking about flying to see you for the first time…if you didn’t mind.
 
And your reply?
 
Meet me at ten O’clock Saturday morning at the city park on Main. I’ll be on a wooden bench by the fountain at the bottom of the stairs ~ and I’ll be wearing red (incase you’ve forgotten).
 
No, “Come on over and see me” for you!
I loved your love of games.
 
You made dinner for us that night at your apartment: fried chicken, wine and chocolate.
 
That’s the night our minds wandered to far and our lips strayed to near but that’s what happens when hearts do the thinking.
 
What is it about wine and candlelight?
 
What was it about the taste of wine upon your lips?
 
What is it about the first time that always stays with you though time steals away?
To which everytime thereafter’s but an echo, however faint or clear.
 
Remember leaving the trail of clothes from the kitchen to the bedroom floor…
 
And my first fight with a bra?
 
I thought you’d never stop laughing.
 
I loved your laughter.
 
I loved your love.
 
I love you.
 
***
 
Here’s the last letter, it’s from your cousin Ann. It’s hard to read, her tears and mine mingled on the page. I don’t know why she wrote instead of called…but I guess I do.
 
I don’t read it anymore.
 
I know the words by heart.
 
You know the feeling I get: sometimes stars no longer shine, their only points of light. And what’s set in stone is everything…and nothing at all.
 
Sorry…
 
There’s gray in my hair now and my step is not so light ~ but you have stayed forever young for me.
Still, I’ve felt you watching in my fading. And sometimes in my tears I hear your laughter, because I haven’t gone quite so gracefully since your grace was take from me…I’ve drifted some, but the echo of your laughter lifts me as it ever did, and I can still smile at the thought of you.
 
Of us.
 
And I go on ~
 
I cannot believe in death.
That’d you’d not come to greet me when at last I come to lay down by your side.
 
Is it pleasant there where you are?
 
For me its heaven because your there, and surely there, dreams still come true.
 
And I still dream of you.
 
Do you miss me too?
 
Wear something red ~ in case I've forgotten...