Thursday
Stell dear,
Just returned from a blurry day at the office. As I expected I had a few extra hours to take to clear up the accumulation of Tuesday and Wednesday. Had a mean grouch and was very much surprised not to have been dropped down one of the elevator shafts by one of my exasperated colleagues.
Gee, I can’t seem to get much satisfaction out of the person that answers your phone. This evening the party of the second part absolutely refused to understand anything I asked her. I don’t even believe that she got my name right. After several futile attempts to get her to commit herself as to whether you were better – I had to give it up as hopeless and to compromise by having her tell you that I hope you were would soon be well. You can well imagine how “kickless” that was in comparison to what I was longing to tell you!
You know, dear, it was just a week ago tonite that we first understood ourselves —- in words. I qualify the sentence with the phrase, “in words”, — as I know that my feelings were known to you through my face some time before. It was a very wonderful evening and one that I shall never forget. I have thought of little else since. I must admit that as yet the problem is unsolved, – and it is a problem.
I try to see it only from your standpoint and to think along that line. You see I am to try to see a way out, – and there is no way that can ever have any possibility of causing you any unhappiness. I can see a way for the present, but for the future I am more than nonplussed.
You can’t imagine the handicap I have in writing this note. Although it is after eleven the landlady and her better ½ have decided to call off their evening hostilities and to serenade us, who have paid admission, with their rheumatic victrola. The wheezing I could stand were it not for their atrocious taste in selecting records. They started off with “When you and I were young, Maggie,” – squeaked into “Uncle Josh – somewhere,” – changed the needle to the blunt end and nearly shook the house with one of Sousa’s marches; – from that they slurred into “Tomorrow”; – “Kiss me again,” and then “Home Sweet Home”. I don’t know whether the next piece will be “Kol Nidre” or “Yes, we have some nervous prostrations!” Really I can’t understand how a family can have such pleasing dispositions and at the same time such barbarous taste in music. I actually believe that they think we are sitting in our rooms enjoying the concert. Another case of misplaced kindness. I would much prefer that they crank the furnace as it is getting quite chilly.
Pardon our victrola for its rudeness in shoving its way into our conversation. I do enjoy telling (wrong word) talking to you. You know I am very selfish in writing you, dear. I get so much pleasure out of just spending the time with you in this way that I am afraid that I must bore you and make you wonder why. I write such dumb things that I can’t expect you to realize that I just write so that I can feel that I am with you for the while at least. How they are received I do not know for as yet I haven’t seen you nor received my first note from you.
I shall not impose upon your good nature longer. Pardon the rambling, - jumpy note.
Love,
Leon.
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