Clark awakens. It is early and he is old.
He shaves, brushes, and dresses. In his kitchen he concocts the beginnings of an omelet.
From the bureau in his living room he removes his favorite record- Rachmoninoff’s Complete Piano Concertos. The hills and valleys of No. 2’s first movement are countered only by the sizzling of bell peppers.
He returns to his omelet. Age has had no bearing on the dexterity with which he wields a spatula. He sprinkles, slices, and flips in time to Rachmoninoff. There is a crescendo now; a final artistic rally before the coda. It finishes. Time rewinds.
Dearest Clark,
If you had told me that a year would pass before we saw each other again I just wouldn’t have believed you. One year! Edward is working and earning a good amount. It is just enough to put food on the table and pay for the light from the lamp he bought me. Can you believe it? A lamp!
We got a dog. We named him Frank. You would just love him, Clark. He is always yapping and whoofing and yodeling around the house. When Sophie is here (can you believe it Clark? 3 months away!) he will just have to keep it down, I’m afraid! And his fur is just unbelievable. Of course Edward never bothered to check on it. It is all over the house and I have to pick it up hair by hair! It’s a shame I have to throw it away, it’s so beautiful!
I told Edward to start cleaning the guestroom so you’ll be comfortable. And we’ll throw such a party for your birthday! Thirty-seven. Goodness! Where did the time go?
I just can’t wait to see you. One year! Can you believe it, Clark?
Always Yours,
Lilah
Hi Lilah
I am well
One year is a long time I guess you just lose track
Frank sounds like fun I would like to play with him maybe go on a walk
I hope the house is nice mine has one room but the bed is big it is no trouble
Sorry about the hair maybe I can help
See you soon
Where did the time go
Clark
He tears the paper from the typewriter; finds an envelope and two stamps. Today is Tuesday, the day the mailman visits his street.
Clark steps outside to his mailbox and raises the flag. The mailman has already reached.
“Any mail, Clark? Anything to send? Anything?”
Clark stares at the sealed envelope in his pocket. It is already addressed; already stamped. It is sealed and ready for delivery. “It’s a start”, he thinks. “It’s just a party. A birthday party, for me. Lilah wants to throw me a birthday party. Lilah…”
“No, sir.” he says. “No mail, sir. Not today.”
“Suit yourself.”
The mailman steps into his box of a mail car. “One year. Can you believe it?”
The phone rings as he snaps back to reality. Clark shuffles from the sink to the counter. Omelets are easy but walking is not. As he answers he knows who it is. It is the same woman; the same voice (tinted with that seductive, sardonic edge); the same message.
