Dear Thanise,

The August Look Book is ready, so feel free to come by to pick up the galleys in the next hour. There were only a few minor errors this round. However, you might want to remember that Caribbean is spelled with two ‘b’s and not two r’s. Many people make this mistake, so don’t feel bad about it. It’s amazing how Americans love talking about going to the Caribbean but can’t spell it for the life of them. I do like the color name “Caribbean Blue” for a chino though. That was very clever on your part. I would certainly be enticed to buy them.

Best, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

Just a gentle reminder: The company has made the decision to say “pant” and not “pants” so when you are referring to an individual chino, you must say “chino pant.” I know this goes against intuition, but it has been a policy for many years—as long as I have been working here anyway. Also, a reminder that when you see STET written above the text it means that I have made a mistake and to ignore my correction. This is your first copy job I hear, so perhaps you don’t know the lingo yet. I’ve noticed that you have ignored a few of my STETs and you have made the changes to the copy in the system, but just remember that I can get pretty comma happy and oftentimes I realize the error of my ways on a second read-through. So again STET: Ignore, forget, dissolve.

Best, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

Congratulations on your new ad campaign! I heard it was a great success and that our brand is now 7th in the nation. Everyone is buzzing around here about how sales are up this week, and your copy team is getting much of the credit. Not bad news for a rainy Monday morning.

Best, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

Are you reading Anna Karenina? I thought I saw you tuck the Constance Garnett translation into your purse when you were coming out of the elevator yesterday. Just curious.

Best, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I thought so! That is one of my favorite novels of all time. I can recite many of its passages by heart. Really. I won’t bore you with that right now, but if you ever want to have a little fun, you should wander over to our neck of the woods here in Proof. Bring your book and ask me to recite the beginning of any chapter. I mean, any chapter. My favorite passage is the one when Kitty and Levin go ice-skating. What a beautiful passage! It gives me the shivers just thinking about it. Whenever I’m walking around Wollman Rink during my lunch break and I see couples on the ice, all wobbly and holding each other’s hands for balance, I think of those two. I know that you are only on Chapter 1, so that’s all I will say about it. I’m so happy that I have someone here in the office to talk to about classic literature.

Cheers, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

Yes, it’s true. I have a photographic memory. I think you owe me $20. I told you I knew those chapter openings by heart.

Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I was only kidding about the $20. I couldn’t possibly take money from you. I know that living in the city on your own is expensive, so please don’t worry about it.

Cheers, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

It was so nice to ride the subway with you yesterday. My usual commute home is about forty minutes or so, but riding with you made the time go by in a flash. I had no idea that you went to Brown. It makes sense, as there is a certain je ne sais quoi about your copywriting skills. I have heard that Brown has a very untraditional format when it comes to deciding upon a major. Is it true that you can invent your own? At any rate, I think the company is benefitting from your out-of-the-box thinking. You look at the houndstooth jacket in a completely new light. Claudia is very hard to impress and I have overheard her talking to the art director about your copy’s brevity and punch. It’s hard to be concise—but that’s what sells, of course. I could never do what you do.

And do not dismay that this is all you are good for, as you confided to me on the subway. I know that writing headlines about chinos and carpenter jeans and applique skirts for nine hours a day is not what you envisioned for your future, but remember that you are a young woman just starting out in the world. Our retail company is one of the best and you have gotten this far, so who knows what could be around the corner in a few years. I am also very impressed that you have moved here to the east coast on your own, so far from your friends and family. It’s a shame they aren’t able to visit you more often. It’s true that the city might seem cruel and unfriendly to you now, of course, but give it some time. You will start to see how the snow catches the evening light, how the low hum of so many feet on pavement during the 6 o’clock rush hour can be a reassuring reminder of a good day’s work.

Sincerely, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

Ha! That was a good headline you came up with for the new fall catalogue. I love a good pun—tee time is me time? Ha ha. I’m going to haunt you with your own words whenever you come to drop off the next round, especially since I know that you hate tea. Was the directive from Claudia to make this a British theme? I had no idea that design took their photo shoot to the UK. Also, is this the final round for that page in the catalogue? I hope so. The designers keep moving the copy around as they tinker with the images and every time they move it they do something silly, like drop a letter off a word, or worse, a period. Don’t you hate how those designers think that the words matter so little? My eyes are straining from catching missing periods all day. I know it’s not your fault—just venting.

Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I’m fine, and thanks for asking about my injury today. I know I must have looked like something the cat dragged in this morning. I didn’t know what to say when you asked me what had happened, and I hadn’t had my coffee yet, so I apologize for being brusque. I appreciate your concern. Basically, sometimes I play pick-up basketball on the weekends in the Village and I get a little excited with my game. A kid was getting hostile with me on the courts and at one point, the ball fell into my face pretty hard and now there’s a welt by my eye to prove it. That’s all. It looks worse than it feels. I’ll be fine.

Cheers, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

Yes, ok. Sorry. I will hurry up with the Winter Wonderland spreads. Design moved everything around again. I know how Claudia can be. Apologies.

 

Dear Thanise,

Please tell Claudia that I’m sorry. I haven’t been feeling well the last few days. Maybe it’s the change of season. My eyes are dry and itchy from the cold weather outside and it affects my vision. I know that’s not an excuse, of course. I don’t want you to take the blame for any errors I don’t catch, so I am happy to email her and tell her that this was all my fault. That page should have never gone to print. I’m so sorry.

Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I feel I need to explain why my desk was in such a state this morning when you came by to drop off the final mock-up. I usually like to keep things pretty tidy, as you know, but there was absolutely no copy coming in this morning, as you also know, and I was basically sitting around twiddling my thumbs. So as I was sitting there stirring the sugar into my third cup of coffee, I started to think about Anna Karenina again. Maybe it’s because winter is upon us, and there is a sad sense that we are somehow frozen inside of things, and that there is no escaping this fact. I started to think about how Anna and Kitty must endure those insufferable winters on the Russian plains. (I have never been to Russia, but I think I would like to go. I have always dreamed of visiting the Hermitage and walking through those large, ornate halls—the halls of the czars! Did you get to the chapter with Kitty and Levin yet? Did I tell you that that ice skating scene is really superb and that it moves me to the core?)

So back to the condition of my desk: I was sitting there having a laugh with Esme from Production about how I am both fascinated and repelled by the winter, and I told her, like I told you, about the ice skating scene and that I know many of Tolstoy’s passages by heart and she, like you, didn’t believe me. Well, Esme had a bunch of napkins on her desk from all of these take-out lunches she has had (but apparently she is not using her napkins at lunch, just collecting them) and I picked up a pen and started writing the ice skating scene there on those napkins. It felt so wonderful to transport myself from the office to the skating rink through Tolstoy’s eyes—well, you can imagine. Here we are, me, Esme, and the rest of Proof and Production, stuck behind our cramped little desks in our little room with no windows—but as I started to write the passage I felt a warmth growing inside of me, like the striking of a flint, and it was as if I were there in Russia, with the sleigh bells ringing, watching the breath pluming from the horses’ nostrils, and I could practically feel Kitty’s warm glove placed directly in my hand, as if I were Levin taking hold of her there on the ice. I must have spent a good amount of time writing these paragraphs out on Esme’s lunch napkins. I just wanted to explain why they were all lying around my desk this morning because you looked a little alarmed when you came by. Alarmed is perhaps not the right word. Concerned? Flummoxed? I stacked them and arranged them in order so that actually, you too can read the ice skating scene now on a lovely array of napkins from Angelico’s Diner. How is that for some entertainment?

Anyway, apologies again if you were taken aback.

Yours, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I hope my last email didn’t catch you off guard. I was only trying to explain. I didn’t want you to think I was a disorganized person with piles of napkins floating around my work space. Probably not the best trait for a proofreader.

By the way, I’ve barely seen you this week, although I thought I spotted you rushing by my desk about five minutes ago, but by the time I looked up and realized it was you, I only caught your back rounding the corner. You seemed to be in a real hurry—perhaps you were running late to a meeting or you needed to see Claudia? I hope things aren’t too stressful for you right now.

Apologies again, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I noticed yesterday that a girl named Graciella brought the copy to Proof and not you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this Graciella person over here before. Have you been sick? Are you angry with me for some reason? I haven’t heard anything from you in a while and now I’m worried that you are avoiding me. I’ll throw the napkins away—it was really just a way to pass the time.

Yours, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I was so glad to receive that email from you this morning, even though it was a short one, or in Claudia’s words “punchy,” and I’m happy to know that you are not angry with me. Thank you. Our friendship had a little bump in it, as most friendships do, but I’m relieved to know that we survived that one. Are you going to get gyros from the food truck downstairs? Do you want to stand in line together?

Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I’m noticing I’m getting quite tongue tied around you and I don’t like it, so I’ve decided to just tell you that I sense that there are perhaps some unspoken things between us and that maybe, sooner or later, we should discuss them. Is this on your mind at all? Usually you like to chit-chat, but it feels as if you’re withholding when we see each other and I’m wondering why. It’s not like you to clam up when I ask you about your weekend. Are you frustrated with me or with Claudia? I can’t tell. What can I do to make this better?

Sincerely, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I was just thinking today that we have known each other a while now—almost six months in the office. Amazing! I’m glad that after some weeks we are talking a bit again, laughing and sharing stories whenever there’s copy to proof. You’re getting such a good reputation here at the company. And last week, I was so pleased when you recognized that I was whistling a Van Morrison tune at my desk; you even had some time to talk to me about your own music tastes. Pink Floyd? Joni Mitchell? I couldn’t believe my ears. Did you realize that we talked about our favorite songs for a full fifteen minutes straight? This despite the fact that we had deadlines from Claudia to get the galleys in by noon. The fact that you are taking your sister to a Prince concert at Madison Square Garden speaks volumes about your character. You’re so young (I’m not really sure how old you are, I must admit) but the fact that you are drawn to artists from a different generation than your own proves that you are indeed an old soul (like me!). Of course, I identify more with the Prince generation. I turn 40 at the end of the month, but that is beside the point.

I know you are mostly familiar with seeing me in my office cubicle on the north side of the building (except that one time we rode the subway together and last month when we stood in the gyro line), and that it may be hard to envision me outside of this corporate hullabaloo, but let me assure you that I am an extremely well-rounded, interesting and committed guy. I am now arriving at the true purpose in my writing this email, which is not to discuss how completely thrilled I am about our similar tastes in music and books, but rather to express to you that I would love to take you out to dinner and perhaps a movie afterwards.

I notice that you stop by my desk twice as much as you did in the last few days and I can’t help but think that maybe this is purposeful on your part. You come with the guise of asking me to sign off on another holiday catalogue proof, but I notice your warm, courteous smile, your bright eyes, how you linger and ask me how my day is going. I made you that CD last Friday, which was inspired by the sharing of our favorite road trip songs—you seemed so stunned, actually, when I gave it to you, but in a good way, yes? You said you liked it and that you would listen to it, so have you? No rush, of course.

But if you do listen to it soon, we will have plenty to discuss at dinner and I promise not to talk about boring old work. Who cares! There is a great restaurant on Christopher Street that I have been dying to try, but we can do anything, really.

Thanise, believe it or not, it has taken me a while to get up the gumption to confess my admiration in this way. We never say exactly what we mean to each other in person, but perhaps in writing this, I can share what has been pressing on me, what has been keeping me up at night. Of course, when I really think about it, this can’t be any real surprise to you based on our interactions since you arrived at the company this summer. I respect you a great deal, Thanise. Please let me know when it would be a good time to talk. If you don’t accept my dinner proposal or return my feelings, I will admittedly suffer, I cannot lie, but please do what you must and what is right. I only want the best for you.

Sincerely yours, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I cannot handle this silence. What have you made of my last emails to you? You haven’t come to my desk in three days. Did I overstep my bounds? If I have made you uncomfortable, I am sorry. That was never my intention. If you do not share my feelings, we can return to as we were before. Please don’t be angry or avoid me. I hate this uncertainty.

Your friend, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

The copy is ready. Is Graciella coming to get it again? Where are you? Every time I walk over to your side of the building, your office door is closed, but the light is on, so I know that you must be there. What should I do? All of this silence is making me a nervous wreck. Please let’s talk about it.

 

Dear Thanise,

Thank you for stopping by my desk yesterday, even if it was to just let me know that Claudia is reassigning you to a different proofreader. That completely makes sense and I understand. You probably need a little distance from me. I think this awkwardness will eventually pass, so let’s not worry too much about it.

Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

How nice of you to wish me a good weekend yesterday in the elevator—and I am writing you here from my apartment on a Saturday to tell you that I am having a wonderful weekend simply because you willed it to be so! You are really such a lovely person, Thanise, and I was so happy to have you speak to me in that old familiar way. I am probably going to go to the basketball courts soon—it’s a beautiful day outside and my apartment is admittedly a bit drab, dark and cluttered. I’ve been banking so many overtime hours at the office that I’ve neglected my living arrangements. I’m sure you understand this too, of course. Earlier in the week my sister stopped by and gave me such a headache about the fact that I had dishes in the sink. I mean, really. Everybody has dishes in the sink, don’t they? She said that if I had a girlfriend, maybe I would actually be compelled to wash them. That did get me thinking. I consider myself a neat person at work, of course, but not so much at home. Although if people came by my apartment with the same frequency they drop off spreads to Proof, I’m sure that would be an impetus for me to organize my clutter. My sister also tells me that I shouldn’t be living out of boxes anymore, but I just tell her this is New York—people live out of all sorts of things. Can you believe that a sister can be so condescending to her older brother?

Anyway, I think I’ll go join another pick-up game soon, and I should do pretty well with this new spring in my step after you have wished me a good weekend. Thank you again for being so patient and forgiving!

Yours, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I found something on my desk this morning—it was a new layout for the holiday campaign that said The Best Things Come to Those Who Wait written in script across a red and white Christmas stocking—behind it was a Christmas tree adorned with little fairy lights. Does this sound familiar? I loved this copy! I wondered at first who the copywriter was because whomever it was forgot to initial off, but you haven’t fooled me one bit. I didn’t find a thing wrong with any of the text, of course. You have become such an astute editor of your own work. Look at how far you’ve come!

By the way, did you purchase those pumps you were wearing the other day, the leopard-print ones, from the sample sale last week? I thought I recognized them from proofing one of the recent catalogues. They make you look a great deal taller, but don’t worry about that too much. I don’t mind.

Sincerely, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

Did you receive my little surprise? I know that since we work together, it will probably be impossible for us to date. I know that this is what your silence is telling me. But I still care for you and hope that my gift brightened your day. I actually found your address while perusing a copy of the employee directory down at Human Resources while I was talking to Ernie one day. I was so surprised to see that you had moved. Well, you know how good my memory is—I not only memorized your address but also your birthday! (Are you 28 now?) I hope that you received my package in time for your special day.

Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I see now that sending that gift to your home was a great mistake. Your complete refusal to even say hello to me or look me in the eye these past few days has given me pause, and I realize that perhaps you did not appreciate my special offering. I was particularly bothered this afternoon when it seemed you saw me approaching your office and you leaned in and whispered something into one of the designer’s ear; then you both rushed inside and shut the door before I could even explain myself. Perhaps you found the contents that I sent you unnerving in some way. On advice from a very good friend here in the Proof Department, I see that I may appear a bit offensive and presumptuous and perhaps even threatening, which was never my intention. It’s becoming clear that I have really overstepped the boundaries of an appropriate work relationship and I am so very sorry. Can you forgive me? Throw out the box I sent to your home. Please. And you need not be so nervous when we bump into each other in the hallway or when coming in or out of the elevator. I’m working on trying to strike the right balance with people.

 

Dear Thanise,

I know you have probably thrown out the box that I sent you, and that when you did this, you were only responding to my request. I am rescinding that request (STET) and I only hope that I am not too late in what I now ask of you. The reason being is that I sent you, unbeknownst to you, an important piece of my childhood that I would now like to reclaim. It may seem silly to you, I know, but perhaps you will understand my change of heart. You see, I included that small teddy bear to get a laugh out of you, although now I see that it probably wasn’t that funny. Do you remember that conversation we had about comfort objects back when we first met? You said you possessed a rectangular yellow blanket when you were five (until it became threadbare) and I spoke fondly of Mr. Bear? We debated over which was more comforting, a blanket or a bear, and you said it didn’t matter the shape. You said it was the touch and the smell of the object that was comforting to us. I do agree that there is a scent that reminds us of our sweat and tears, our mothers and fathers and our sucking of fingers and thumbs that lingers in these objects. I honestly thought you might see my efforts as a comforting message, since I know Claudia has been hypercritical of your copy lately. I’ve heard a lot of talk in the break room. I’ve heard that your ideas have been shut down at meetings and that you have been seen crying in the ladies’ room on several occasions. It makes me very sad to hear all of this, of course.

But back to the task at hand. Please. Mr. Bear may seem like garbage to you, but he isn’t to me. I had only wanted you to borrow him, to experience a sense of reprieve as I often did when I held him as a child, when my mother and father were screaming upstairs and I ran down into the basement holding his ear to my nose to get away from all of the noise and fuss. He offered me such solace. I regretfully did not consider how intense my longing for him would be until now. My, our, childhoods are powerful. Please rescue him from your trash. Or tell me where your building keeps its garbage bins and I will be happy to come over and go through your trash myself. Or you can leave Mr. Bear downstairs in the mailroom. I’ll ask Wendell to hold onto him for me and to let me know when you’ve dropped him off.

 

Dear Thanise,

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I cannot be more grateful. I was so happy to see Mr. Bear in the mailroom this morning in his little cardboard box. I did notice that much of the Styrofoam I had packed him in was missing, but that doesn’t matter. I’m sure you didn’t anticipate having to give him back to me when you first opened your gift, so that slight oversight can be forgiven. Besides, you returned him! I think my love for you has grown twofold. I know you don’t feel the same, but I simply can’t keep this to myself. Have a beautiful, glorious day!

Yours, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I have been told by HR that I am not supposed to be emailing you anymore. I just wanted to let you know that if you don’t hear from me, it’s not because I am angry or harbor any grudge against you. You know my feelings for you. It will be hard to stay away from you, to keep myself from writing you and hitting send, but I understand that this is best for the both of us. I just wanted to let you know that this no communication business will be difficult but not impossible, and that if it seems I am ignoring you, it is only because I have been told I could potentially lose my job and even have a lawsuit filed against me.

Regards, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I don’t care if I lose my job! I hated to see you in tears yesterday outside of Claudia’s office. I thought at first you were fired, so I asked Michael in Design what was going on. He told me that he really wasn’t allowed to talk about it with anyone, but that you were going through some sort of depression and that Claudia and some other stressors were contributing to this state. He said that you have been talking to some of the other copywriters about feeling like you lack purpose and that every time you walk through the doors of this place, your heart sinks straight into your abdomen. He told me you had even asked him for the name of a therapist. I had no idea you were so sad. I thought perhaps you were upset because Claudia has been so harsh with you, but Michael said that your job was pretty secure—many of the Design heads think you are still an asset to the company and a pretty girl to boot.

But this depression Michael spoke of, the depression you are going through has struck me wholly. It has made me feel, in fact, incredibly blue myself. Did you know that I, too, have struggled with deep, intense bouts of sadness? When it comes, there is no warning, and I feel a large squall begin to stir inside me, and the sadness is so palpable, Thanise, that it is simply horrific. Tremors seize me, I can’t sleep, and I become so inconsolable that I hear ringing in my ears from the very quiet that surrounds me, which then becomes unbearably noisy. My own breathing begins to haunt me. I write little notes on anything I can find, I read Anna Karenina again and again so that I can be reminded of what is beautiful—ghostly Kitty skating across that feather-white pond, the blades of her skates incising fresh circles into the flurries. What joy Tolstoy gives me! He was not a stranger to sorrow either.

Perhaps you are not sad in the same way, Thanise, perhaps you don’t write on napkins as I do, or stutter and repeat things to yourself, but I must confess something freely to you. I must confess that those times when you, Jack and Esme in Production have asked me about my accidents from basketball, well, they were not accidents exactly. I tell you this because I want you to know that you are not alone. My nights can become so long and terrifying, Thanise, that sometimes I feel the storm within me rage in such a way that I can no longer stand it, I can no longer feel myself on this earth. It seems that I am rising away from the earth, as if gravity has been taken away from me, and I feel myself ascending right out of my skin! It is terrifying, this feeling, as if I don’t belong to myself anymore. When this happens, I must combat it somehow. I have found a way to battle this loss of gravity within myself, so I strike myself back to the ground—it doesn’t hurt too much, so do not be alarmed to hear me admit this to you—but I strike, and then a bit harder, and then still a bit harder, until I come plummeting back to earth, back where I belong, and I find myself breathing quite clearly then, although it is a labored breath, and though my cheeks and lip may feel black and plump and heavy and I don’t always recognize my own face in the mirror anymore, I feel such relief that I have beaten down this sadness that is in my heart. I have beaten it down, Thanise!

I have such a lonely heart. Sometimes I feel that it is not so lonely when I am writing these sentences to you. Sometimes it feels as if someone understands and cares for me, and that perhaps in my expressing these things to you, my experiences become less imagined and more real.

I cannot bear to hear that you could possibly feel the pain that I have, that I do. It is an excruciating, unrelenting pain. I cannot bear to think of you day in and day out, trudging up the lonely steps to your apartment. Please do not cry, Thanise.

There must be a way for these lonely hearts of ours to mend.

Yours, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

It doesn’t matter that the company is blocking my emails. I feel that somehow you will sense what I transmit into the universe. I will dearly miss you. It is not easy to pack up my things and go like this, knowing that you are still here in this office. Somewhere on the 12th floor, you breathe as I do. We haven’t seen each other in weeks, and I know that you are hiding from me.

I wish you all the luck in the world writing copy for Claudia. You are one of the best fashion copywriters I have ever read and that’s the truth. As for me, I am off to greener pastures, wherever they may be. Do know that I welcome any attempt of yours to remain in touch, though I am aware not to expect as much.

Be well and love and honor yourself, Robert

 

Dear Thanise,

I am writing to you on napkins from Pulkovo International Airport while awaiting my transfer to a smaller aircraft, which will embark on a journey to Yasnaya Polyana. I am not sure if I have ever told you this, but I am a bundle of nerves on an airplane, especially on a small passenger aircraft in the midst of a Russian winter. It took nine hours to get to Saint Petersburg from New York last month, and I squeezed and wrung my armrest during the entirety of the flight. The suited man sitting next to me was of little comfort, of course, as he was also squeezing his armrest and, believe it or not, at certain points of high turbulence, he seemed to grasp for my hand. Imagine—two grown men, strangers, grasping for one another’s hand while in mid-air! At baggage claim, we pretended that nothing had happened, since we were certain that we would live. Still, there is a particular humiliation when looking back at desperation. At the time, your heart is rushing at such a speed that you can barely contain yourself and perhaps the body is too small an instrument to hold such exasperation. But later, that desperation is scoffed at as silly, ridiculous even. How could we think we were to NOT get off the plane? What idiots we were! But when you are desperate and in danger, you do not care if you are an idiot.

All of this is beside the point, as what I really wanted to tell you was that I could not have been happier than to be on that plane, as terrified as I was. I wanted to thank you for this, Thanise. If it had not been for your actions against me some few months back, the loss of my job, the restraining order (none of which I hold against you, of course, for they were all well deserved, I see this now), I would have never left the company and thus, would have never traded my meager savings account for a plane ticket. And what beautiful, golden treasures I have seen unveiled here in this gray, serious and shadowed country—I have stood awe-struck in front of jeweled crowns at the Hermitage and sat in stranger’s homes pouring tea from samovars as they did centuries ago. The other day I was walking in the street and I must have been smiling to myself because three, perhaps four locals, some men, some women, saw me and smiled back, their bland eyes growing alight and amused when they saw me—they smiled back! And I did not even know I was smiling!

It was on my flight over this vast continent that I looked down from my porthole and saw the twinkle of a small village in a frost-white valley surrounded by a range of mountains. The ridges all looked as if they had been freshly penciled in only moments ago, so crisp were the lines of their dimensions. I thought to myself, how large and glorious this earth is, where over the wingtip there are other small little villages, and then a few more flickering some distance away, and then snowy cold hills rolling to the east, as if into eternity. I felt myself to be a god, or at least a god of myself, up there in some altered universe where I could look down upon these villages and landscapes instead of exist within them. I thought, one day these villages will no longer be here. One day those lights will no longer flicker. One day, this plane will no longer be able to fly in this precarious pocket of air I now occupy. It was then that I felt a great fondness bloom inside me, a fondness for all of these things below and above me that one day will cease to exist. My eyes began to brighten and mist. My blood began to stream more freely. It was a pure fondness I felt then, Thanise, but it is the kind of fondness that one cannot have for a person.

It seems to me, Thanise, that we forget our fates are not entirely in our hands. If it were up to me, you would have returned my favor and love for you, but I know that this was perhaps another selfish wish. The reason I am writing you, though, has to do with the fact that I know you never meant any harm towards me, and to tell you that I believe in you and your future even though you may not. The truth is, I am very far away from you now, and in time, you will barely remember me, or if you do, you will remember me as a man who made your days at the office staring at little blue screens with little black words possibly unbearable. Or maybe I judge myself too harshly. It could be that I added a dimension to your life, a new line to the drawing, to make it a little more colorful, a bit more endurable even. Of course, I cannot guess how you perceive me, Thanise, any more than how you might guess how I might perceive you. There is really no way of knowing this entirely. All I know is that I don’t feel as if I am floating anymore, as if I were a balloon without an anchor.

Thanise, you are such a kind-hearted, beautiful woman. You have always been so good to me, even when it was difficult. I spent so many days looking at periods and commas and changing M-dashes to N-dashes and trying to explain the difference between them to you people in Copy. Now I sit here on a dingy plastic seat along with the few passengers left in the terminal, hunched over these napkins and bundled in my knit hat, my wool sweater, my down jacket zipped up to my neck.

I’m sitting here thinking: My God, Thanise! I never asked her to tell me what she was fond of, who she loved, what she found beautiful and good.

And you may never answer me, but I will still ask it: What is good in the world for you, Thanise? Tell me what your life has given you and where you would like to go.

Always, Robert

CHRISTY HUTCHCRAFT