Between the Lines (3/17)
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“My dear sister,” Kevin thought to himself as he wrote. “I hope this letter finds you well. We are at a base in England at the moment but should be moving again shortly. I do not know if you have heard from Justin recently, but we crossed paths last month. He sends his love, of course, as do I.”
The sound of quiet rustling distracted Kevin; he glanced around. Several dozen men were sleeping in the cramped quarters; a strike over the French countryside was planned for the next morning. The others, Kevin knew, were anxious to get back to the sky and killing enemies. Kevin could wait a little longer.
He looked back at the letter he was trying to write by lamplight and sighed. He didn’t think he’d be able to write much more that night. He missed Sarah and wanted to escape for a few moments through communication with her. But he had long since lost the ability to write simple and amusing notes. He had seen too much. He would need to distract his mind in some other way tonight.
Kevin doused the lamp, crossing his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the wall. He sought around in his mind, trying to find a good, private memory. The soldier he met at the dance all those months ago, perhaps. Or the young man who used to work the orchards in Ojai. He hadn’t thought of his classmate from college in a long time, either.
But all those faces remained at the back of his mind. The clearest image was the one that had haunted him for several weeks now. Odd, since he hadn’t even met the man. Kevin smiled softly, remembering the tingle he felt as he realized someone was watching him. And he remembered the look of shocked embarrassment when he acknowledged the gaze. Kevin had been about to stand and make his way across the room to introduce himself, and perhaps see if he couldn’t find a few minutes alone with the other man. And then the stranger had stood, hurrying out of the club. Someone who would have been - should have been - only a few minutes of fun and then another fond recollection now became much more. He was a burning curiosity, a fantasy, an endless possibility forever lost, an imagined pleasure. Kevin couldn’t stop thinking about him.
***
“I have this uncontrollable urge to scream as loud as I can,” Chad whispered.
Jason fought a smile as he glanced across the table at him. “I feel that way every time I’m in a library.”
“Oh, good. I’m not the only one.”
Jason shook his head reassuringly.
“So what are you working on today?” Chad asked, leaning forward.
Jason paused, working up the courage to meet him halfway across the table. “I’m just reading letters he wrote during the war.”
“It’s amazing to me how people used to keep all their correspondence.”
“We do too,” Jason pointed out. “I don’t know about you, but I have about 250 emails in my inbox.”
“You know what I mean.”
Jason grinned. “No, I know. I think it’s kind of a lost art form, you know.”
“I remember how excited I used to get when I actually got some real mail. Now it’s mostly bills.”
Jason nodded. “On my birthday and around Christmas, I would hang around, staring out the window as I waited for the postman.”
Chad chuckled. “Me too.” He was quiet for a moment as he and Jason looked into each other’s eyes. Then he looked down, breaking the moment. “So these letters?”
Jason cleared his throat. “Mostly to his oldest sister Sarah; she donated them to the University archives in the late '80s. They were really close. He visited her several times after the war.”
“She didn’t stay in California?”
“No,” Jason said, shaking his head. “She was a bit of a free spirit, which often meant conflict between her and my great-grandfather, William Walker. She went off to a women’s college on the East Coast, married a musician, had two kids. He died just before the war, shot by a jealous husband if you catch my drift. She volunteered at various places during the war - the Red Cross, the USO. It was then she met a Frenchman who happened to be in New York when France fell, and he sought asylum, basically. One thing led to another, and they got married. He had a large vineyard in France. Once there was peace and he was able to rebuild from the damage, he moved her and the children out there. Sarah never returned to the U.S. Her daughter still lives on the estate; her son moved back here.”
“Interesting,” Chad said.
Jason nodded. “Her son, by the way, is named Joseph Cooper Whedon. The kids took their stepfather’s name and he now goes by - ”
Chad lifted his head in sudden understanding. “Cooper Laurent.”
“Yeah. He was very young when Kevin died. He couldn’t have met him more than five times, if that. And yet, he has the rights to everything and the authority to sell - never mind.”
“Why did everything go to him?”
Jason pursed his lips. “Tommy and Kevin never talked again. Justin died. There was never any real love lost between him and my grandfather - I don’t think Grandpa necessarily approved of writing as a career choice for a grown man, and Kevin was more than vocal about his liberal views. So, despite the fact that he left quite a large chunk of money to Grandma Kitty and her son - my father - Grandpa refused to let her accept it. Everything went to Sarah and then to Paige and Cooper.”
Chad nodded as he absorbed the information. Then he shook his head. “Sorry. Sorry, I keep distracting you from your work.”
Jason smiled softly. “That’s OK.”
Chad smiled back but didn’t reply. They were quiet for a while, as Jason focused his attention back on the letters in front of him. Chad reached out, grabbing one of his own. It took a few moments to figure out how to read the letter; several lines of text were squeezed into one line on the page to save as much of the paper as possible. Additionally, there were half-finished lines in the margins - phrases out of context that seemed to have nothing to do with the letter itself.
Finally, he recognized something. “Oh, this is from that poem.”
“Mmm,” Jason said, focused on what he was reading. “He’d work out some of the wording like that.” Then Jason looked up. “Which poem is it?”
“The falling stars one,” Chad said.
Jason stared at him, confused. “Impossible. All evidence suggests he didn’t even draft that one until 1946 or so.”
Chad stood, walking around the table and sitting down close to Jason. He leaned closer, bringing the piece of paper between them.
“I’m telling you - it’s that poem. See here: like the bullets firing in the distance.”
Jason closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to be distracted by the warmth of the body next to him. Then Chad’s words registered, and Jason furrowed his brow. Opening his eyes, he took the sheet and tried to find the line. “No, it’s ‘like bullets firing in the distance.’”
Chad pointed to the page. “Well, here it’s ‘like the bullets.’”
Jason looked at the section he indicated. He was quiet for a moment as he read the phrase over and over again. “This is a few years before he was supposed to write that poem, which is strange enough,” Jason said slowly. “And the phrasing changes the meaning entirely. These are now real, specific bullets.”
“I found something?” Chad asked, surprised.
“I think so,” Jason said, looking up at him. Then he turned back to pile of papers, excited. “Let’s find the next letter.”
***
“It was amazing,” Chad said excitedly as he and Michelle prepared dinner. “The next three letters to his sister all had some little clue on them. Short lines about brown hair, and loving arms around him, and saying goodbye too soon. One margin had the letter S written over and over on top of itself. Jason says that wasn’t an uncommon doodle; he had always assumed it was for Sarah, but now he wonders if there wasn’t someone else.”
“So he had an affair. Big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time a soldier got friendly with the locals.”
Chad looked up at her, startled by the tone. “What’s with you?”
Michelle sighed. “Nothing,” she said. “Just can we please not talk about Kevin Walker for one night?”
In the in between (1945)
I would live with you
In the in between -
When a boy grows into a man,
Where winter is just turning into spring,
Or in the moments before one wakes.
I would live with you in the twilight,
And in the hour before dawn.
I would stay forever in the morning dew,
Tracing our fingers over the rainbows
That are just out of reach.
There is no real home for us -
No time we can call our own.
And so I would live with you
In the in between -
At the crossroads of laughter and tears,
The spot where memory transforms into regret,
The slight angle of your head when
Bashfulness becomes seduction.
For this love cannot exist outside;
We must steal the moments we can
And hold onto them tight.
There is no place where we belong.
And so while we have the chance,
we must live here together -
In the in between
Next Chapter
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“My dear sister,” Kevin thought to himself as he wrote. “I hope this letter finds you well. We are at a base in England at the moment but should be moving again shortly. I do not know if you have heard from Justin recently, but we crossed paths last month. He sends his love, of course, as do I.”
The sound of quiet rustling distracted Kevin; he glanced around. Several dozen men were sleeping in the cramped quarters; a strike over the French countryside was planned for the next morning. The others, Kevin knew, were anxious to get back to the sky and killing enemies. Kevin could wait a little longer.
He looked back at the letter he was trying to write by lamplight and sighed. He didn’t think he’d be able to write much more that night. He missed Sarah and wanted to escape for a few moments through communication with her. But he had long since lost the ability to write simple and amusing notes. He had seen too much. He would need to distract his mind in some other way tonight.
Kevin doused the lamp, crossing his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the wall. He sought around in his mind, trying to find a good, private memory. The soldier he met at the dance all those months ago, perhaps. Or the young man who used to work the orchards in Ojai. He hadn’t thought of his classmate from college in a long time, either.
But all those faces remained at the back of his mind. The clearest image was the one that had haunted him for several weeks now. Odd, since he hadn’t even met the man. Kevin smiled softly, remembering the tingle he felt as he realized someone was watching him. And he remembered the look of shocked embarrassment when he acknowledged the gaze. Kevin had been about to stand and make his way across the room to introduce himself, and perhaps see if he couldn’t find a few minutes alone with the other man. And then the stranger had stood, hurrying out of the club. Someone who would have been - should have been - only a few minutes of fun and then another fond recollection now became much more. He was a burning curiosity, a fantasy, an endless possibility forever lost, an imagined pleasure. Kevin couldn’t stop thinking about him.
***
“I have this uncontrollable urge to scream as loud as I can,” Chad whispered.
Jason fought a smile as he glanced across the table at him. “I feel that way every time I’m in a library.”
“Oh, good. I’m not the only one.”
Jason shook his head reassuringly.
“So what are you working on today?” Chad asked, leaning forward.
Jason paused, working up the courage to meet him halfway across the table. “I’m just reading letters he wrote during the war.”
“It’s amazing to me how people used to keep all their correspondence.”
“We do too,” Jason pointed out. “I don’t know about you, but I have about 250 emails in my inbox.”
“You know what I mean.”
Jason grinned. “No, I know. I think it’s kind of a lost art form, you know.”
“I remember how excited I used to get when I actually got some real mail. Now it’s mostly bills.”
Jason nodded. “On my birthday and around Christmas, I would hang around, staring out the window as I waited for the postman.”
Chad chuckled. “Me too.” He was quiet for a moment as he and Jason looked into each other’s eyes. Then he looked down, breaking the moment. “So these letters?”
Jason cleared his throat. “Mostly to his oldest sister Sarah; she donated them to the University archives in the late '80s. They were really close. He visited her several times after the war.”
“She didn’t stay in California?”
“No,” Jason said, shaking his head. “She was a bit of a free spirit, which often meant conflict between her and my great-grandfather, William Walker. She went off to a women’s college on the East Coast, married a musician, had two kids. He died just before the war, shot by a jealous husband if you catch my drift. She volunteered at various places during the war - the Red Cross, the USO. It was then she met a Frenchman who happened to be in New York when France fell, and he sought asylum, basically. One thing led to another, and they got married. He had a large vineyard in France. Once there was peace and he was able to rebuild from the damage, he moved her and the children out there. Sarah never returned to the U.S. Her daughter still lives on the estate; her son moved back here.”
“Interesting,” Chad said.
Jason nodded. “Her son, by the way, is named Joseph Cooper Whedon. The kids took their stepfather’s name and he now goes by - ”
Chad lifted his head in sudden understanding. “Cooper Laurent.”
“Yeah. He was very young when Kevin died. He couldn’t have met him more than five times, if that. And yet, he has the rights to everything and the authority to sell - never mind.”
“Why did everything go to him?”
Jason pursed his lips. “Tommy and Kevin never talked again. Justin died. There was never any real love lost between him and my grandfather - I don’t think Grandpa necessarily approved of writing as a career choice for a grown man, and Kevin was more than vocal about his liberal views. So, despite the fact that he left quite a large chunk of money to Grandma Kitty and her son - my father - Grandpa refused to let her accept it. Everything went to Sarah and then to Paige and Cooper.”
Chad nodded as he absorbed the information. Then he shook his head. “Sorry. Sorry, I keep distracting you from your work.”
Jason smiled softly. “That’s OK.”
Chad smiled back but didn’t reply. They were quiet for a while, as Jason focused his attention back on the letters in front of him. Chad reached out, grabbing one of his own. It took a few moments to figure out how to read the letter; several lines of text were squeezed into one line on the page to save as much of the paper as possible. Additionally, there were half-finished lines in the margins - phrases out of context that seemed to have nothing to do with the letter itself.
Finally, he recognized something. “Oh, this is from that poem.”
“Mmm,” Jason said, focused on what he was reading. “He’d work out some of the wording like that.” Then Jason looked up. “Which poem is it?”
“The falling stars one,” Chad said.
Jason stared at him, confused. “Impossible. All evidence suggests he didn’t even draft that one until 1946 or so.”
Chad stood, walking around the table and sitting down close to Jason. He leaned closer, bringing the piece of paper between them.
“I’m telling you - it’s that poem. See here: like the bullets firing in the distance.”
Jason closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to be distracted by the warmth of the body next to him. Then Chad’s words registered, and Jason furrowed his brow. Opening his eyes, he took the sheet and tried to find the line. “No, it’s ‘like bullets firing in the distance.’”
Chad pointed to the page. “Well, here it’s ‘like the bullets.’”
Jason looked at the section he indicated. He was quiet for a moment as he read the phrase over and over again. “This is a few years before he was supposed to write that poem, which is strange enough,” Jason said slowly. “And the phrasing changes the meaning entirely. These are now real, specific bullets.”
“I found something?” Chad asked, surprised.
“I think so,” Jason said, looking up at him. Then he turned back to pile of papers, excited. “Let’s find the next letter.”
***
“It was amazing,” Chad said excitedly as he and Michelle prepared dinner. “The next three letters to his sister all had some little clue on them. Short lines about brown hair, and loving arms around him, and saying goodbye too soon. One margin had the letter S written over and over on top of itself. Jason says that wasn’t an uncommon doodle; he had always assumed it was for Sarah, but now he wonders if there wasn’t someone else.”
“So he had an affair. Big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time a soldier got friendly with the locals.”
Chad looked up at her, startled by the tone. “What’s with you?”
Michelle sighed. “Nothing,” she said. “Just can we please not talk about Kevin Walker for one night?”
In the in between (1945)
I would live with you
In the in between -
When a boy grows into a man,
Where winter is just turning into spring,
Or in the moments before one wakes.
I would live with you in the twilight,
And in the hour before dawn.
I would stay forever in the morning dew,
Tracing our fingers over the rainbows
That are just out of reach.
There is no real home for us -
No time we can call our own.
And so I would live with you
In the in between -
At the crossroads of laughter and tears,
The spot where memory transforms into regret,
The slight angle of your head when
Bashfulness becomes seduction.
For this love cannot exist outside;
We must steal the moments we can
And hold onto them tight.
There is no place where we belong.
And so while we have the chance,
we must live here together -
In the in between
Next Chapter
Main Page