Tuesday, March 13, 1984, 5:18pm
Hi Daddy,
I think this might be my last ballet class. Evidently, I don’t stand up tall enough and Irena just took a broomstick and stuck it down the back of my leotard. She stuck it down Anne’s leotard too. I’m putting this in post now, because if ever there were a time to tell you this in conversation, you would be away at work, and I in bed before you arrive home. Anyway, I bet I could stand up taller if you wanted to hear all my little chats.
Love,
Andrea
Tuesday, March 13, 1984, 5:47 pm
Dear Daddy,
I’m sitting in the massive hole in Anne’s backyard that will soon be her new swimming pool. We’ve just returned home from ballet and I haven’t even bothered to remove my ballet shoes. We are dancing in this empty pool, looking at the dirt walls, pretending to be synchronized swimmers with tutus. You would chuckle if you saw us, but then caution us over some contrived danger we might face in this pit—slipping?—and warn us to be very careful. The hardest part will be climbing out of the hole, six feet at its deepest spot!
Love,
Andrea
Tuesday, March 13, 1984, 6:04pm
Daddy,
I’m walking home from Anne’s house after ballet class. Her mom always says that we live “two doors down” but it’s like she and I count differently. I close Anne’s door behind me, walk past the juniper bushes that grab my pink ballet tights, now muddy in the knees. Next, I pass the brown door on the white house, the one that has eleven sidewalk segments along its weedy front yard. Then, I see the clay rocks in front of the McLaughlin’s house, I look up at the windows and I see Mr. McLaughlin’s bald head reflecting the blue glow of the CBS Evening News. Now, I pass the Mexican Elder Tree in our front yard and consider climbing it instead of going inside, where you aren’t behind door number three.
Love,
Andrea
