Dear Little Jo,
I came down the path by the railway tracks after school today. My Outer Sanctum. On the asphalt right before the gap in the fence, someone has spray-painted the word BREATHE. Probably a coincidence, but I have to say it felt like some kind of sign. I found a lawn chair someone tossed down here beside the tracks, and I’m sitting in it writing this letter.
So in the art closet today I found my jeans, pulled your last letter out of my pocket, and waved it in your face. “Come on,” I said. “There must be something you want from me.”
You dug your chin into my belly. “What would you want?” you asked.
I was ready: “A house with lions in front of it. A pair of life-sized lions. Made out of marble.”
“I’ve seen your front lawn.” You laughed. “I don’t think there’s room.”
“No, I want the house too. My own house.”
“Okay. Those lions are going to be hideous. But okay.”
“Ask me now,” I said, reaching down, wrapping my arms around your shoulders, and dragging you up so that your cheek was on my collarbone.
“I want the Stanley Brothers to sing ‘White Dove’ for me,” you said.
“Isn’t one of them dead?”
“Yes, and the other is terminally ill. But if I can get you a house, you can bring a couple of singers back from the dead to sing for me.”
“Why not bring Walt back, then, to read you Leaves of Grass?” I asked.
Your palm stroked my ribs. “Did he even do public readings?”
“I can grant anything, Jo. I can get you into Walt’s house, if you want. You can hang out with him.”
“No, thanks,” you said.
I had to think about this. “Is it that Walt might be better on paper? He wouldn’t measure up in real life?”
“I wouldn’t measure up,” you said.
I pressed a hand against your hot ear. “Walt would love you. Walt is going to love you.”
There was silence. Then a sniffle.
“Are you crying?” I asked.
“No,” you said, but I felt a tear roll onto my sternum, which made me laugh.
I wiped your cheek. “Walt Whitman is going to adore you.”
You were still quiet.
“I adore you,” I said.
You sat up and smiled, teary and flushed. “You do, don’t you?”
“I really do,” I said.
Sincerely,
AK