The Wife Draft (Peterick)

Duquesne: The Layogenic

I walked to the university after work and waited in the small café towards the outskirts of campus. I took my briefcase to work that morning so I wouldn't look suspicious walking around with loose papers and a couple pens. I was going to write Patrick back while I waited for my date to get out of her final class.

Brendon had been doing a beautiful job of keeping my secret. He never asked me questions. He just waited until I wanted to talk.

We talked about Patrick a few times already. I even let Brendon see pictures of him. Not the sexy ones, but the ones where he just looks like a gorgeous southerner out on the streets.

"He must be very blond," Brendon observed. "His hair almost looks white in the pictures compared to all the black and dark gray."

"He is," I replied, subconsciously petting my finger against the picture.

"I thought you didn't like blonds. You always dated brunettes."

I had only shrugged before saying, "I guess I like blond boys. He'd be a hot brunette, too. Anything. He's just so beautiful. I like him."

The words poured out so simply when I wanted to talk to Patrick. He was so sweet and caring. He wanted to know everything just like I did. I wanted to tell him. I didn't want to have any secrets. I only wanted to have him back so I could talk to him in person.

My sweetest Patrick,

Nothing you write is weird. It's all perfect in its own way because it was written by you. You should up the ante to an entire photo album. You're the ginchiest man alive and I can't stop thinking about you. Hips, thighs, chest, lips. But more than that, too. You're so easy to talk to. So funny and charming. I love your accent, even though you think it gets in the way.

But as for your questions: My favorite color is black like the night sky. I'd love anything you cook for me, but pizza is always a way to go. And I always thought I wanted to be a doctor. But you're an amazing singer and could honestly school anyone in a competition. If you send me a recipe for pumpkin squares, they will never be lacking when I see you.

I've included my phone number on the back of the picture, just to ensure you won't lose it. There's a nickel, as well. You shouldn't have to spend your money on me. I get home by four o'clock your time. Give me a ring any time after that and we can talk until the payphone breaks.

Hell, Patrick, do I miss you. Our correspondence through letters, while so meaningful, will soon be ineffective. I crave to hear your voice. Seeing you again will set off all the sparks in my heart.

I hope my letters to you really do inspire the same feelings as yours do to me.

I'm not going to talk long, only because I am now expecting a call from my boyfriend. I can't wait to see you again soon.

Call me, Pattycakes,

Peter

I folded up the letter and stuffed it in the addressed envelope. I then wrote my phone number on the back of the picture before slipping it inside, as well. I pulled a nickel from my pocket and tucked it into a corner.