The Correspondent
Rosalie Van Antwerp
Dear Rosalie,
I’m off! Leaving tomorrow first thing. Bruce will drop me at the airport in Washington.
I have a few hours to wait there before the flight leaves for London.
I am a nervous wreck, but as I buzz around the house there is nothing I’ve left undone.
I washed the windows and scalded the kitchen drain with vinegar and water.
Trash cans are empty. Sheets on all beds are clean and pressed.
My first time out of the country, and at seventy-nine years old! I’ll be sure to write—
Syb
Postscript: You should have a heavy box arriving at your doorstep in a few days.
It’s all the letters. Every last one, beginning with the ones from when we were girls.
I hope you will piece the decades-long story back together.
Who knows, maybe you could sell the thing, although, as you said, I’m not sure anyone but us would find it interesting.
It should be quite a tome by this point.
Theodore had to lift the box to the counter at the post office.