When I was in Military School back in the late 60s, I would, on occasion, receive a love letter from home. It would always be scented in a way that would burn its fragrance on the back of my mind. I would read it slowly, carefully… so every word would be set to memory. Test scores suffered on days that the letter arrived. Over and over and over I read… until the edges were worn from turning. Each sheet… each page again and again and again. Her penmanship… was art. Her signature was as though etched on the key to my heart, my will, my future. And then came the careful folding… the aroma that transferred to my hands… breathing in deeply that letter, her words, and her thoughts of me… of us, then carefully placing it back into the envelope that brought her heart, her joy, her sorrow, her heat to me. Sacredly I tucked it away safely in my shirt pocket… my gray shirt pocket.

Our correspondence each week soon began to reveal a flaw. Though every word was precious and set to memory, some of her ways confused me, perplexed me… vexed me. Two weeks… of tribulation… before I would have her answer to my questions. But the flaw still remained. In fact, the more time I spent with her words from each letter, the more perplexed I felt. The flaw grew… until wisdom came. The letter… her letters, revealed a flaw and pointed me to the next step, for the letter was never commissioned to fill my void.

By my junior year I had a deep revelation… the telephone! Whenever her letter touched this place of longing to hear her clear heart, her ways, her voice… I made a call. Then a new learning curve approached. It was a bit of a hairpin curve that previous boyfriends never managed to navigate. They only crashed and burned. You see, a man with two beautiful daughters screened every call back then. The secret of getting to her voice was coming through Dads requirements, his approval. The fact that I was in Military School didn’t hurt, but every dad wants to know who you are, not what you seem. He liked me because I always took time to ask of his family, work, and hunting… plus it was my dime. Once we talked for thirty minutes only to find out that she was out with her mom! Ouch! And there I was, quarter-less at the pay phone, left with an unfulfilled call and a letter… a folded letter… in the left pocket of my gray shirt.