not mentioned your relationship with Trina to her. I feel that is not my news to report and I will let you see your own way to discuss this with her. I am, of course, hoping you will return to live with me in the trailer, the way it was before you left for the army and I am already making necessary arrangements for you to be able to transfer a wheelchair easily inside, in case you are still in need of one when you come home. Bernie King is helping me widen the front door and build a ramp but I am still unsure of how we can maneuver the chair through the narrow hallway. Perhaps, it is time, as Trina likes to tell me, to buy a real house that cannot be toppled in the spring winds or hooked up to a truck and pulled away. I try to explain my love for the brown trailer, but she says she spent too many years of her childhood parked in a trailer court and will never make her home in another one as long as she lives. I guess that’s information you might need to know in case your relationship continues to grow. You will not bring her as your bride into a mobile home.
Ah, but what do I know about brides and such? Your mother never mentioned any discontent she may have had in living in a trailer so far away from everyone. She told me when we first moved in that she liked the privacy of our lives, the way she could see and count the stars, the sound of desert wind, the long setting of the sun, the sheer hold that silence can have on a person. I never understood, of course, why she left when she did. I never knew she was unhappy or displeased with our life and as I have told you more than once, it never had anything to do with you. I claim all responsibility for her departure and I hope you never entertained a single thought that it had anything to do with you. She loved you from the moment she knew she was pregnant. I just think the weight of being married to me, the deep longing she had for her family and the inability to find her place in Catron County just became more than she could bear. I no longer even blame my relatives for pushing her away. “It is the curious nature of many unknown things to remain unknown,” as your great grandfather used to say.
If I knew where to reach her, of course, I would let her know of your military service and of the recent events in your life. Even though I never told you this news, I tried to find her when you graduated from high school, having made your plans for joining the army, but I was unable to locate her then and I must admit I haven’t really tried in many months. However, if that is something you would like for me to do before you return home, I will happily search for her again.
I know she would be proud of you, as proud as I am. She would think you are brave and selfless to do what you have done. She would surely hold your face in her hands and smile that beautiful smile at you, whispering those things she told you when you were a baby that she never repeated to me. I hope you know she always loved you.
I have been tracking the coyotes for the past few months since I still struggle with sleeplessness. As you discovered when you were a boy, on those dark nights when I can no longer stay put in my bed, I wander the early morning hours along the hidden trails. The animals have become used to me now and do not even seem to mind when I join them on their hunts. I do believe that the leader of this small group is from the same pack that we met on a trail a few years ago, just before the spring of your departure. Do you remember the family? And do you recall the smallest pup, the one who lagged the farthest behind the others, the one we left our sandwiches for? There was a small ring of white fur around his silver-brown neck. I do believe he is full-grown now and leads this pack I follow. It is odd to say, of course, but it is as if he recognizes me. And all these seasons later, I feel connected to this animal as if we shared something we both can never forget. I even find myself telling
Ah, but what do I know about brides and such? Your mother never mentioned any discontent she may have had in living in a trailer so far away from everyone. She told me when we first moved in that she liked the privacy of our lives, the way she could see and count the stars, the sound of desert wind, the long setting of the sun, the sheer hold that silence can have on a person. I never understood, of course, why she left when she did. I never knew she was unhappy or displeased with our life and as I have told you more than once, it never had anything to do with you. I claim all responsibility for her departure and I hope you never entertained a single thought that it had anything to do with you. She loved you from the moment she knew she was pregnant. I just think the weight of being married to me, the deep longing she had for her family and the inability to find her place in Catron County just became more than she could bear. I no longer even blame my relatives for pushing her away. “It is the curious nature of many unknown things to remain unknown,” as your great grandfather used to say.
If I knew where to reach her, of course, I would let her know of your military service and of the recent events in your life. Even though I never told you this news, I tried to find her when you graduated from high school, having made your plans for joining the army, but I was unable to locate her then and I must admit I haven’t really tried in many months. However, if that is something you would like for me to do before you return home, I will happily search for her again.
I know she would be proud of you, as proud as I am. She would think you are brave and selfless to do what you have done. She would surely hold your face in her hands and smile that beautiful smile at you, whispering those things she told you when you were a baby that she never repeated to me. I hope you know she always loved you.
I have been tracking the coyotes for the past few months since I still struggle with sleeplessness. As you discovered when you were a boy, on those dark nights when I can no longer stay put in my bed, I wander the early morning hours along the hidden trails. The animals have become used to me now and do not even seem to mind when I join them on their hunts. I do believe that the leader of this small group is from the same pack that we met on a trail a few years ago, just before the spring of your departure. Do you remember the family? And do you recall the smallest pup, the one who lagged the farthest behind the others, the one we left our sandwiches for? There was a small ring of white fur around his silver-brown neck. I do believe he is full-grown now and leads this pack I follow. It is odd to say, of course, but it is as if he recognizes me. And all these seasons later, I feel connected to this animal as if we shared something we both can never forget. I even find myself telling
Similar Books
