Dear Rita,
It’s late here. The children are asleep. The dishes are washed, the floor is swept. The leftovers covered and tucked topsy-turvy on top of themselves in the icebox. I’m afraid to open the thing! I made way too much. Seeing as I used most of my rations, I suppose leftovers are a good thing.
Oh, darling Rita. A job? I’m so, so happy for you. And so proud. How wonderful it will be to work at a university. You’ll be great. You’ll pick it up in no time. Shorthand is nothing after you’ve battled and won over the terrifying Mrs. K.
Robbie is doing well. But he’s still a different boy. Lately I’ve become absolutely obsessed with the ease at which we humans adapt to things. Three years ago I was a young bride in a Free World. Now I’m the mother of two children and an army wife. And the world is on the verge of chaos and tyranny. (I sound just like Anna giving one of her talks. I’m happy to even hold those words in my mouth, to let them come out of my pen is divine. I want to write speeches, too. What do you think? Would it be too horrible for Robert to come home to an activist wife?)
Here’s what I’ve adapted to in terms of my son. He will never be a soldier. He will never be an athlete. He will be at risk of death every time he gets ill...and he will be prone to such illness. To put it bluntly, he could die. Any moment. But so could Robert and Sal and Toby. At least I am here with him. He’s not alone. Our other boys? They are alone out there without us.
Levi kissed me again tonight. There was wine with dinner. Anna and Marie had gone. My mother-in-law never made it here. There was a little snow on the ground and it scared her away. He put the children to sleep. He’s been here more and more lately, so I’m sure I should have expected this. We’ve been exchanging glances, and every once in a while his hand brushes mine. I’ve been writing to Robert almost every night to assuage my guilt. And I miss him, Rita. I don’t want you to think I don’t. I miss him so much. But he’s not here. And the attention and friendship I get from Levi...the little everyday things like putting the children to bed. That sort of normalcy has lulled me into a false sense of what is real and what is not.
I washed the dishes and listened to the radio. I was missing Robert. Missing the way he used to dance with me in the kitchen.
I felt Levi behind me before he even touched me. When I turned around, his face was right in front of mine. “Gloria,” he said. I closed my eyes and it was as if my name echoed across a thousand million years. His mouth. I still feel the burn where his stubble scraped my skin. God help me, Rita, I wasn’t the one to pull away. He was. I was leaning, almost in a backbend over the sink. I could feel him pressing against me and I wanted him to just do it already. To make me the woman my mother must have been.
Then a dish hit a glass and he ran out of the kitchen, out the back door and into the night. I followed him as far as the porch. He was standing in the dark yard staring at the sky. He didn’t turn around.
“I can’t do this, Glory. I can’t pretend to live this life with you.” He ran his fingers through his hair but never turned around. He just walked into the night. Thank God Marie left a package of cigs. I’m smoking right now. Sitting here in your sunflower room and smoking. Thinking about writing activist speeches and becoming an adulteress. See? Look what we can adapt to. All sorts of things.
On November 11 (Armistice Day), I received my first “romantic” letter from Robert. Mostly he fills his letters with domestic things. But not this one. He misses me, Rita. He aches for me and this is how I treat him? Is it possible to be in love with two men at the same time? Or is this feeling I have for Levi a memory? The memory of love.
Living inside of all this anxiety is difficult. I don’t know if I should grab at life or wait for it to grab me.
Please don’t be angry. I’m young and reckless.
Love,
Glory
P.S. Robbie sent another picture. This one is of a turkey. See his handprint?
P.P.S. It’s morning now and I am posting this letter. I thought about ripping it up and giving you a rundown of my menu instead, but I want you to know everything. Levi was sitting on the front porch this morning drinking coffee. He’d come in and made a pot. “Never again,” he said. “Whatever you say,” I told him. So I guess that is THAT.