and the owls complained to each other. After I went
up to my room, I sat by my window and listened to
the cicadas. I wondered if Paul was asleep or being
nursed. I imagined his little arms swinging, his
excitement coming with every new discovery about
his own body, and I turned to find a pen and some
paper to write the letter I would never send.
.
Dear Paul,
You will probably grow up never hearing my
name. If we do see each other, you will not look at me
any differently from the way you look at anyone else.
Perhaps, when you are old enough to realize, you
might see me looking at you with a soft smile on my
face and you, might wonder who I am and why I am
gazing at you this way. if you ask your parents about
me, they won't tell you anything. We will remain
strangers.
But maybe, just maybe, on a night as warm and
as lonely as this one is for me, you will feel a strange
longing and you will realize something is missing.
You may never tell anyone about this feeling, but it
will be there and it will come often.
And then, one day, when you're old enough to
put the feeling into a thought, you will remember the
young girl who looked at you with such love and you
will realize there was something more in her eyes. Maybe you will confront your father or your
mother and maybe, just maybe, they will be forced to
tell you the truth.
I wonder then if you will hate me for deserting