The Letter | Teen Ink

The Letter

November 3, 2007
By Anonymous

She is home today sitting in the living room. A room of living is a happy room. Happy rooms are filled with warmth. She feels no warmth, so cold. Cold is always represented by the color blue. Like the sky or a nice car. She finds an old sweater she knitted when she was a girl. Flowers, lots of flowers upon it, like the garden outside. Lilies, daffodils, chrysanthemums, and geraniums smell so sweet. The cookies in the kitchen are sweet. She sits down in her cushioned chair. The cushions are soft like clouds. The clouds outside are light and puffy. The cotton balls in the drawer are puffy.
The pictures all around the fireplace are glinting in the light. Tall ones and short ones stacked. The buildings outside stack. Black ones and grey ones all over each other in rows. Knitting is done in rows across. She hasn’t seen the person that’s in the frames with her for awhile. She misses him. Some of the pictures are yellow. Yellow is the color of the sun and the stars. The stars glow so nicely. I drew a line, I drew a line for you, Oh what a thing to do, And it was all yellow.
She sits and stares at the pictures before her, tilted pieces of glass. The glass is dusty. Dust smells musty like rain in the sand. Sand is yellow and red. Red. Red is blood. Pottery as well as bricks is red. She sighs at the pictures. The man has been gone for awhile. The baby in the crib is crying like a banshee. A ghost isn’t just a sheet. Sheets are white. And those belong on a bed. The baby cries louder. She rises from her nostalgic rest to the child upon the stairs. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes two. She focuses on the ring now. Ding Dong. Ding Dong. Hickory Dickory Dock, The mouse ran up the clock, The clock struck two, The mouse rand down, Hickory Dickory Dock.
She cuddles the child in her arms and he stops crying. Blubbering and bouncing. Bouncing balls bounce in the room. Rubber rubber rubber balls. Bouncing bouncing bouncing balls. The phonograph rings rag time. Shhh baby!
The doorbell rings. She answers it. A letter in her hand. Torn at the corners with a peeling stamp. A stamp with a picture of the statue of liberty. Shhh baby! Urgent stamped everywhere. URGENT URGENT URGENT! Red ink. The blood ink is all over. The envelope smells dirty. She opens and drops the envelope. Yellow like the walls. Black type in blocks. The baby’s blocks are on the floor. Tick tock tick tock. The letter follows the envelope on the floor. She lands on her knees.
Baby will never know daddy. Holding him stronger against her breast. Daddy is gone. “Shot in the line of action. Front line squadron apologizes.” They flood her eyes, tears falling. Leaves of tears falling down into a puddle. A puddle of unbelievable pain. Black, blue, red, and yellow in circles. Dizzy so dizzy. Baby will never know daddy. Daddy will never be here for baby. Shhh baby! Daddy is gone. Daddy is gone. Tears, tears, tears are falling more. Daddy is gone. Daddy went away baby. He went away in 1944. Daddy loves baby. Daddy is gone. Blackness.

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