Chapter 27
From the new computer of Kate Fair
(It’s a hand-me-down gift from my grandma. She and her husband tried a self-publishing company. Not a success.)
9/4/92
Dear Frida,
I keep telling myself, if something happened to you, I would know. But how? I looked in a phone book to call your parents. There are a lot of Rodriguezes in L.A. I know it’s illogical, but every time I hear a story about Sarajevo on the radio, I listen for your voice.
(I didn’t like the way my words looked on the screen so I printed them out. I don’t like them on paper, either. I’m going back to my pen, but I’ll leave the printout section so you can see what I’m talking about.)
I used to think politicians wanted to do the right thing, but the U.S. response to Bosnia seems to be all about the coming election. Will this get me votes? Will that get me votes? Meanwhile, snipers are shooting women hanging laundry in their gardens. It makes me think how small my troubles are. I’m sorry I was so melodramatic in my last letter. I’m feeling better. Please be okay.
Your worried friend,
Kate