Letters {Alex Summers}

letter viii

"you know it's never gonna work"

November 29, 1965

Dear Alex,

The war in Vietnam is getting worse, they say. It's scary. Some of the teachers and older students have been drafted, which is not a good thing. Charles is a little stressed because it has only been the first semester of school, and a lot of people have left. The school is becoming more and more empty as the weeks pass on.

I know for sure that Charles won't be drafted. Me too. But you and Hank and Sean are a different story. Alex, you could be taken away from me for an unknown amount of months or even years. I can tell you are scared too even though you tell me to be brave. But it's hard. It's very hard. I couldn't bear to lose you. (You might wonder if I already know if you've been drafted because I can read your future; well, I don't. I haven't touched you long enough to see every little detail. Just the more important ones. Like your...death.) 

These letters are getting hard to write also. I feel like you have noticed why I sometimes go off by myself to write, and you worry about me. Which is sweet, but I'm fine. I promise. Just scared.

Back to the war, I've tried hard not to but my mind tries to connect it to your future. I can't hone in on the specific circumstances to your futu-death, but I really hope they aren't connected. I really, realllyyyyyy hope.

And all this is happening so close to our one year anniversary, which passed a few days ago. That was one thing to look forward to in all this depression, I guess. It blows my mind how far we've come. You really want to stick with me, huh?

Sean is yelling for me to come down for dinner, so that's my cue to go. See you at dinner, Summers.

Love, Neva Summ [crossed out]

Love, Neva Liu

PS: Please ignore that mistake if you ever read these (which I hope you don't); pen can't erase and I forgot.

~

Neva folded up the letter and placed it into a medium-sized cardboard box which held the other various letters. She raced down the stairs and slid down the banister, almost sliding onto Charles.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she said, her hands flying to her mouth as she stood up. He smiled warmly.

"It's no problem; just don't give the students any ideas." She nodded meekly.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologizing, dear. Let's go eat, shall we?" She nodded again and rolled his wheelchair to the kitchen. Neva saw that his smile was more tired and weary. She wished she could do something to help. She hoped that this horrible war would all stop, that the students would come back, that mutants were accepted, that Alex and her would never be separated.