We Are the Light(32)
On Monday, I bought a roll of stamps from the campus store and applied three to the envelope, just to make sure it would reach her. And when I dropped the letter into the mailbox on the quad, I had this overwhelmingly warm feeling that seemed to be saying my life was about to change in a radical way.
And I was not wrong.
I’m writing you today about that new revived, even life-saving feeling that Darcy’s letter gave me at the start of college, because that’s exactly how I’m beginning to feel whenever I spend time with Eli, which—happily—happens every day at this point.
When he grins at me over breakfast, it’s like I’ve metaphorically just posted the first letter to him in the mail.
Like I’ve set something in motion that I don’t quite fully understand, but will transform my life powerfully and for the better. Maybe almost in a fated way.
Each day is a glorious new beginning.
Back when she was still talking to me, winged Darcy said my writing you was healthy and I think it truly is.
Besides Darcy, you’re the only person I’ve been this intimate with on paper.
I know you realize the significance of that fact.
Karl, Karl, Karl.
Please write back.
I could really benefit from a couple of encouraging words—just a sentence or two. I imagine it wouldn’t take more than a minute or so to scribble and post a few lines.
Minimal effort and yet maximal effect.
I’m sure you have already discovered the self-addressed and stamped envelope, which I’ve enclosed for your convenience, making the process of responding as easy as possible for you. Sorry for not thinking of that earlier. It was probably inconsiderate, although I definitely meant no offense. I just didn’t think of it before. Maybe all the post-traumatic stress. Or maybe psyche is just subconsciously prioritizing Eli at this point and you—of all people—can surely understand why.
Your most loyal analysand,
Lucas
11.
Dear Karl,
I must admit that I wasn’t initially convinced by Jill’s optimism after the meeting at the library. And I had a fitful night tossing and turning in bed. Winged Darcy watched me with disapproval, digging her elbow into a pillow and resting her face against a closed fist. Oh ye of little faith, her pouty expression seemed to be saying, but I couldn’t manage to feel reassured and my sleep suffered terribly as a result. But the very next day—while I was cleaning up after breakfast—there was a knock at the front door.
“That’s them,” said Eli—who never doubted the genius of our plan even for a second, not even when it put him in the emergency room.
“Who’s them?” I asked, scrubbing bacon drippings from Darcy’s cast-iron skillet and wondering how much left-behind grease would qualify as seasoning.
“Whoever we managed to convince!” he said, and then sprinted to find out who was on our porch.
When Eli pulled open the door, Mark and Tony were standing there rather sheepishly in pastel polo shirts, khaki shorts, leather loafers, and light summer sweaters draped perfectly down their backs like capes.
Eli gave me a told you so look before inviting our guests to enter and take a seat on the living room couch, which they did with what might be best described as measured hesitation. Mark must have convinced Tony that visiting us this morning was a good idea, I thought, because whenever Tony gave Mark a questioning glance, Mark would nod as if to say, We discussed this already. We’re doing this. Or he’d squeeze Tony’s knee.
Eli plopped down into the recliner and I pulled up a wooden dining-room chair so that I was facing our guests. Then I noticed I was tapping my left foot, so I forced myself to stop doing that and, instead, smoothed out the wrinkles in my linen pants. Darce had bought me those for our trip to Hawaii, which we had taken the year before she got her wings. I’ve been sleeping in these rather comfortable pants ever since the tragedy, so they are extremely wrinkled.
“That was quite the presentation you boys put on last night,” Mark said, only he was smiling kindly and believably. He wasn’t making fun of us at all. Then he went on to say that when Eli, Jill, and I left for the hospital, Mark and Tony had stayed behind with the original Survivors’ Group to help clean up the blood and disinfect the library meeting room. Once that was finished, The Survivors had another meeting to discuss the merits of what Eli and I had proposed.
“Sandra Coyle gave a big speech,” Mark said with a frown, “and, honestly, she did her best to counter everything that you laid out. ‘Our emotional and financial resources could be better spent!’ she kept yelling. ‘Better allocated!’?”
“But,” Tony said with an edge in his voice, “she was… insensitive.”
“Especially with Eli in an ambulance headed to the hospital,” Mark said.
“I’m fine,” Eli said.
Then there was an awkward silence.
“We were both film majors,” Tony interjected, refocusing us. “We worked in the industry for years, mostly as producers, until we earned enough to return the Majestic Theater to its original glory.”
“We’re kind of rehabbing professionals,” Mark said. “Buildings and personas. Although this might be our first town.”
“I have a digital camera,” Tony added, warming up to us at this point, “which I use quite often to film shorts. I also have editing equipment. And we both have friends who work in the Philadelphia and New York film industries.”