January 31, 1988

Dear,

I have a story for you…

“Cindy, Cindy, please open your eyes!” Her mother had begged.  Cindy had been in a coma for six months.  There was no hope, yet every Sunday the mother came to her daughter’s side to try and awaken her.

Let me take a few minutes to stop right here.  I am looking out my dorm window. I am looking onto the practice football field.  I am watching some girl through my window.  She is running up and down the bleachers.  She doesn’t even know that I am watching her.  There is no way she can see me through the window.  She thinks she is all alone but she is not. She is sharing the moment with me. Do you think she can feel me? Does she feel less lonely? I wonder what she is thinking?  Shoot, I think she is leaving.  Yes, she just left but the poor thing. I will never forget her.  Do you think she will come back because she feels a kindred spirit?  Will she choose to run at this time hoping to feel the solditarity she felt today?

Sorry, back to the story.

“It is no use,” the mother thought sadly.  As the mother reached the door to leave Cindy screamed “Thomas”.  It was only one word but the pain felt by the mother was so strong she wept for sadness even though she was so glad to hear her daughter’s voice.  And then the mother became frightened. Could this Thomas, would this Thomas, drag her back under her deep sleep?

I don’t want to write anymore.  I have a headache.  I am hungry and the girl and my will to write are gone.  Should I

Another Sunday apart wish we were together,

 

October 8, 1989

P.S. The bleachers have been torn down!  I noticed as I walked home home from school today.I don’t know the exact moment they did so as I don’t usually walk this way.  So sad…

 

January 30, 1988

Just a boring Saturday, painting, listening to Sade. Feeling slightly guilty because I am not doing homework.  But I did do the laundry.  Big deal. I have been thinking about going to that other college again.   I wish I could definitely decide.  I think I only want to go when I am bored.  Which is stupid because I will be twice as bored back home.  This is the weekend that we are moving into the new house.  Too bad I won’t be there to help move.  Oh well. I am dreaming a new dream.  I see a man murdered and he is part of the mafia so a CIA agent and I go into hiding. But a lot of cops and agents are involved so we go over seas to hide.  We spend some time in Paris but then we are discored.  That is all I have so far.

I need to write a great story.  I can’t think of any good ones though.

Let’s change the subject.  I am trying to write a collection of 1920’s slang words:

  • Cat’s pajamas
  • Bee’s knees
  • Take a powder
  • Scram
  • Hit the bricks
  • Humdinger
  • Don’t give a hoot
  • Buddy
  • Yammerin (talking)
  • Be a pal
  • Hooch
  • Bronze Cocktail
  • Dance the hoochie coochie
  • Cocking with gas
  • babykins
  • bear cat
  • shiek
  • eatn  him (bothering him)
  • floozies
  • lover
  • take a hike
  • In the flesh
  • Kick off your shoes
  • Scotched it (Messed it up)
  • Says you
  • Come on in, the water is fine
  • That’s what I figured
  • Rag top (Convertible car)
  • Big Shots
  • Go on
  • So long
  • It was a real gas
  • Piece of talent (girl)
  • Living it up
  • Out of the running
  • Great time of things
  • Swell
  • Can (butt)
  • Hittin on all six’s
  • Stiffo
  • Brother
  • Swell digs
  • How’s about
  • Stick around
  • Dime a dozen
  • It’s been a ball
  • So long

Check out H.C. Handy, the father of blues, Scott Joplin, Jelly Roll Morton, Duke Ellington, and Bye Bye Blackbird.

December 7, 1988

I am not writing you from the beach, as you may think, but from the bedroom.  I changed my mind when I woke up this morning and decided against it.  I just watched The Sting II.  I wish I was a con artist.  Just for the excitement and adventure. Like it seemed to be in the movie.  I would give half of my money to charity.  But like all things, give me a week and I will change my mind and want to do something else.  You know, I have always been afraid I would always live in a dream world.  I don’t. Live in a dream world all of the time, that is. Only when I am here, at home.

I should try and make it a point to be as friendly as possible.  Ah, right now, I am listening to

Ah, right now, I am listening to Somewhere in Time. That melancholy tune that keeps me in rapture every time it is played.  I changed my major to Social Science.  We will see how long that lasts, eh?

I want to write you my most valuable and secret thoughts, how did the woman in Somewhere in Time say it?  “What every woman dreams of in the most secret beaches of her heart.” After all of that, and I have nothing to tell, no secrets to give away. Just a bored and restless soul yearning to be free. I am sure I will get over it once school starts back up.

Nae’ living man I’ll love again
since that my lovely knight is slain
with a lock of his yellow hair
I’ll chain my heart forever mare’

I did not write that.  I found it in a book.  I just felt like writing it.  I can picture a wife in front of a castle that does not belong to her, clutching a lock of yellow hair, while a knight in armor tries, awkwardly, to comfort her.  Her children are running around her, oblivious to what is going on.

Oh, I can hear you say, such morbid thoughts for such a young girl?  By the way, Daniel Charmers is his father’s name.  Remington Steele, that is. No, I never stop.  Jealous?  Then come to me,

come to me my love…

January 4, 1988

My Dear,

screenshot-179Just a quick note.  Mr. Schwendemann said the sweetest thing. I will never forget it and it meant a lot to me.  He said he would have liked to have me as a daughter.  He asked me about my dad.  It was nice, I am loved and I knew it all along.  Here is another secret.  I wish I had a boyfriend.  I had that daydream again where I am Remington Steele‘s sister, adopted sister.  Why do I daydream so much?  You would think I should go into a career that requires a great imagination.

Good Night,