One Brief Shining Moment

009. 𝐏.𝐎 𝐁𝐨𝐱 𝟐𝟔𝟖

July 25th, 1963

I spent the next morning staring anxiously at the second letter the President had given me, slumped in my chair as it lay heavily on the desk in front of me. I hadn't attempted to open it yet since he had handed it to me, almost too afraid to do so. The light from my window caste a stark white glow over it, making it look almost too pure to touch. It was as if the sun knew how innocent it ought to appear; it could have very well been just an average letter to anyone passing by. No one, save Evangeline and her nosiness, would have any reason to suspect anything that out of the ordinary lay inside the letter. But the sun and I both knew the truth: the letter was anything but ordinary.

"Christ," I sweared, running a hand through my hair anxiously.

Though I already knew what waited for me inside the letter, the prospect of opening it was daunting nonetheless. A million thoughts had run through my mind already, but none had given me any peace or resolve.

I shouldn't open it. I should just throw it away.

It would be rude to not respond, and after all there's nothing wrong with writing someone. 

Well he isn't just anyone, now is he?

That's why we'll have the P.O box, no one will even know.

But if feels so scandalous to be writing to him in secret...

Yet so exciting at the same time.

Should I even been writing him?

But what harm could it do?

Perhaps I should have know then that the voice whispering inside me was reason enough to forgo the whole notion of continuing to write to the President. But his hand on my waist and fingers running through my hair had diminished that voice to a whisper. The only clear thought I had was his smile, shining brightly with mischief underneath the warm illumination of the waterfront lights. I wanted to see him again, and I craved his company.

I pushed away from my desk firmly, picking the letter up and stashing it away deep in my desk drawer. I reached across and grabbed the telephone, spinning the rotary quickly, pressing the cold plastic to my ear as I heard the line beep slowly. There was only one person I thought to call, and I prayed that she would have an answer to the question gnawing at my insides.

I'm not going to tell her everything about it, just what she needs to know, I resolved to myself as the line continued to ring. There were some details that could be filled in with fabricated information, just enough to make it sound believable. Finally the was the sound of the handset being lifted off its hook, and a familiar voice filled the plastic handset. 

"White Residence, how may I help you?"

"Hey Martha, it's Elizabeth Bruce." I said into the handset, "I was wondering if Margaret was home yet from the club."

Margaret was a great lover of tennis and was usually at the club that her parents were members of around this time. Either that or she was preparing for a day with her fiancé, John. Both activities made me shudder at the thought, so I always declined her invitations. 

"Let me check for you sugar," she said sweetly, pulling the phone away from her mouth as she shouted "Miss Margaret! Ms. Bruce is on the line for you!"

The clicked of small heels on stairs echoed through my earpiece, until I heard the phone cord jostle against something as it was passed to someone else's hand. 

"Thank you Martha - hello? This is Margaret," a familiar voice said over the phone line.

"Marg, it's Lizzie," I said, looking over my shoulder to see if anyone else was on my floor of the house.