My heart feels heavy as I hang up. The walk is over, Papa is gone. The girls linger in the living room while midmorning snack is being set. Some sleep, some read, some color, some knit, some have already begun to wilt. Direct Care collects all the phones for the day and now I am really alone.
I hear a soft scratch outside on the porch. I look at the clock: ten to ten. I jump to my feet. How could I have forgotten?
Girls! The mailman is here!
Emm has already opened the door and taken the letters from his hands. She brings them in and starts distributing them to fidgety, impatient girls. She gives me one too, to my surprise. Who could be writing me? The plain envelope has no stamp or sender’s address but right in the middle, my name!
I am ridiculously giddy. Someone has written me! I unseal the envelope carefully.
Dear A.,
I am not good at talking to people face-to-face. I communicate much better with a pen. I don’t know why. I guess I just feel distant from everyone else in real life.
I have been meaning to write you again since the day you arrived. I can’t believe it’s been a week already. I wanted to give you time to settle in, then I chickened out.
I’d still like to be friends, if you would. If not, that’s okay.
Anyway, today is Tuesday …
The letter is a short and neat page long. Valerie’s handwriting is beautiful. She asks about the morning walk. How I am settling in. If I like to read and what. If I want, she can lend me some books.
Just the right degree of personal, just the right degree of formal. Valerie signs her letter “V.” I like it. I will sign my response to her “A.”
I do not know why she chose to write to me, of all the other girls in this place. Valerie who lives in her books and notebooks and does not go on the walks. Who speaks so rarely and quietly that when she does, it is always an event. Whatever her reasons, yes I do want to be friends. I take a sheet of paper from the communal pile and write:
Dear V.,
Today is still Tuesday, and thank you very much for your letter. I know what you mean about feeling distant from people. I feel the same way.
I cannot believe it has been a week either! You were right about the girls. And thank you for sharing the rules of the house with me.
I am reading Rilke now. I found a book of his in the library. Do you know Rilke? Do you like poetry?
I sign:
Sincerely,
A.
I place my letter in the mailbox on the porch. It seems the most appropriate place. This will be how we conduct our secret letter exchange. After lunch, I sneak a look in the box, wondering if the letter is there.
It is not! In its place, to my joy:
Dear A.,
I do not usually care for poetry, but I think maybe I don’t understand it. Perhaps if you explained one or two of Rilke’s poems to me?
I haven’t been reading much lately. The medication I’m on makes it difficult. I’ve been having trouble concentrating in general, but I’ve been writing a lot, so it’s not that bad.
V.
Dear V.,
It must be an anorexia thing, this difficulty concentrating. I have the same problem, but poetry helps. Rilke’s are short and simple enough that I can get through them easily.
Would you like me to give you one of his poems, before dinner perhaps?
A.
After dinner:
Dear A.,
You were right. It’s magical.
Dinner was particularly difficult. The poem helped a lot.
V.
I am glad.
We are in community space again, sitting in post-dinner lull. Waiting for Matthias, I chat with the other girls. Valerie is in her usual spot. She does not take part in the conversation, but she is not isolated. Somehow, she is part of the group. Every girl here has her place.
She looks up from her writing and meets my gaze. I smile. She looks down again.
Doorbell. And chorus:
Anna! Matthias is here!