within five seconds the kaleidescope of my life spins and all the pieces form a new shape
Wore my new sweater.
Ate tuna salad on a bagel with swiss.
Chatted with the housekeeper about homosexuals and pedofile-priests.
Walked the dog.
MY POINT IS THAT MY MORNING WAS PLEASANT AND NORMAL.
Picked up the keys to go to the grocery store and stepped into the foyer where the mail had been deposited through the slot. I fanned the letters to where the senders names were clear and made out the initials, "PRF."
Initials that once warmed me thoroughly.
Initials that I once embroidered onto a handkerchief.
He had sent the letter to Tennessee, and wrote on the back "please forward if necessary." He doesn't know I'm here. The address for him was in Brooklyn. He doesn't know I'm fifteen miles away. I don't know what the letter says. I didn't read it yet.
Trembling, I turned on my cell phone to call Maggie, and the phone buzzed about a new message. Patrick? no; probably Asit... or Banana Republic.
Instead it was the chair of the graduate program in linguistics at the University of Indiana. He told me that he wants to admit me to the program and to offer me a special scholarship for which I can apply.
Dread and Excitement have never been more perfectly mingled. My blood stream was bombarded by a toxic dump of emotion and I trembled. I wanted to crumble and weep, but I had to go buy groceries.
I had no idea I would be accepted. Honestly. They must have taken a liking to my rough-hewn, down-home honesty and innocence. I'm inexperienced. Uneducated. Backwards. And unsophisticated. But after six weeks I have a reply.
I shall call him later for the scoop.
Fucking shit...
I'll also read Patrck's letter.
I want to be rid of this guilt.
