I found the following letters tied with a faded old ribbon in the bottom drawer of an old friend’s dresser shortly after she passed away. She had saved these letters for … let’s see … they’re postmarked 1942 … that’s 68 years. These must be the last letters from her young husband; the husband she lost so many years ago.
I untie the bow and pull the first letter from its tattered envelope when something across the room catches my eye. There’s nothing there but a bed, a lamp, a nightstand and the photo of a young Marine that Laura coveted. I noticed the picture earlier but it looks different now, somehow. Could that Marine in the picture be smiling at me?
With the author beaming over my shoulder I nervously share these cherished old letters with you.
Bob Rockwell
October 14, 2010
Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen 