Post

Post

August 18

My dearest Cora,

I don’t know how to begin. I’ve been staring at this blank page for the better part of an hour, I think. I tried everything to reach you and Rebecca before finally coming down here. I’m in the Jolesons’ old fallout shelter, under the hatch in the floor of their garage. You remember, don’t you? I suppose that if you’re reading this, you’ve reached the house and you already know all that. Please hurry. God, I pray that you’re both safe.

I don’t know how I imagine this will reach you. I’m writing for the sake of my own sanity, I guess. I can’t stop thinking about the two of you; the power and the phone lines in town all went out when the bomb hit, and all that came through on the CB was static.

It was horrible. Everyone was screaming. I could hear them outside, could see them through the window, running in the streets. I stayed at the house for what must have been three hours, trying to get you on the phone and hoping the power would come back. Then the old air raid drill sounded. I left directions on how to get here just inside the front door if you’d forgotten, or in case this only reaches you, Becks.

But is the house still there? Is the town? I felt the impact of the second bomb soon after I holed up down here. The whole bunker shook and rumbled and it felt like an enormous swell of the ocean crashed overhead. All has been quiet since.

Oh, Cora, Becks. Please come. I pray that you’re safe and that you can find your way to me. I keep trying the CB, but there’s nothing.

God, what have they done?

August 19

I woke up in the dark of this place and thought it was all some terrible nightmare. But it’s true: They really did it.

I can’t believe I’m here. Can’t believe this is happening.

Cora, where are you?

August 21 (?)

Before all this happened, I couldn’t believe that Joleson maintained this place so many years after the Wall came down. Here I thought he was paranoid, but I guess the joke’s on me. On the bright side, there’s more food and water than you would believe.

I keep waiting for someone to start banging on the hatch. I don’t know if Joleson made it, but the fact that I’m still alone down here leads me to think that he didn’t.

Of all the times for us to be separated, Cora, I keep wondering why it had to be now. It’s just too cruel, too unfair. The one thing that’s keeping me going is the hope that this camping trip you’re chaperoning took you both far enough into the mountains that you might have escaped harm. But how will you get back to me, or I to you? They say that the radiation is the real killer after the bombs fall – how long until it’s safe to leave? 

Later

I’ve been staring at the hatch most of the day. It’s funny to put things in those terms; I have no sense whatsoever of day or night down here. The whole place is flooded with light when the generator kicks on, and I’m in absolute darkness when I switch it off. The dark is better most of the time. I lay on the cot and look up into the blackness and pretend we’re watching the night sky like we did on our camping trips, Becks.

What happens when the generator runs dry? There are candles and a crank-flashlight on the shelves, but will I really be here that long?

August --

I’m growing a beard. Itches like hell.

This canned stuff isn’t so bad, but I’m already sick of it.

I’ve been keeping the place clean. Sometimes I’ll zone out just enough and it feels like any other day at work. Old habits, I guess. There isn’t much else to do; I found a pack of cards that Joleson thought to stash away, but my poker face has always been lousy. Mercifully, so is my only opponent’s (ha ha).

August --

Becks,

Had a dream last night that we were at that summer camp you went to when you were eight or nine, when I came to pick you up after the first day and you were crying and said you didn’t want to go back. Remember that? I don’t mean to embarrass you, but we sure had fun that summer anyway, didn’t we?

I wish that I were there with you, at what might have been the End, but I guess it’s safe to spoil the surprise now and tell you. The reason I couldn’t come along on the trip with you two was that I picked up some extra shifts so that your mom and I could buy you a car, come October. Seems like such a trivial thing now, but I know how important these things are at your age. It’s not the one you wanted, and it has a few years on it, but like I explained before: With a first car, it’s not the bells and whistles that make it special. The freedom’s the thing.

I’m thinking of you always.

I love you girls so much.

August --

I can’t remember praying even once since I left St. Christopher’s at fifteen, until I came down into this little room. It’s become something of a regular ritual down here. Is God still out there, when the rest of the world might not be?

The terrible roar of the second bomb and the sound that followed – that huge, whooshing sound that swept overhead – keep replaying themselves in my mind.

Am I the only one left? Surely not.

I find myself speaking aloud down here just to hear the sound of someone’s voice.

Am I losing my mind?

Cora,

I keep waking and thinking for a moment that I’m in our bed, and that when I reach for you, I’ll feel your warmth and your body next to mine. It’s the two or three seconds of my day that are the most precious, but oh, the sting of disappointment when the cold reality comes crashing in never seems to diminish.

I hate it here. I miss you terribly.

August?

Why do I write? There’s no post, no one around to deliver any of this. I pick up this pen and scribble and continue on as if you’ve received my last letters, but here they all sit in a little stack on the cold floor of this place.

Are you worried about me? Do you think I'm dead?

Are you still out there? 

September?

I hadn’t wanted to write this, but I don’t think I can deny it any longer. It’s beginning to sink in that no one is coming here – that maybe no one’s left up on the surface for miles and miles. 

There’s food and water to last for the foreseeable future. It’s warm and it’s not terribly uncomfortable. But I’m coming to understand that while these things are enough to survive, they’re not enough to live. A man alone in a hole without his family is nothing at all. 

Later

I can’t stop crying. The photographs of you both that I kept in my wallet are all I have down here. Please be alive out there, my girls.

September --

I’ve decided I’m going out. There’s nothing for me here but worry and heartache and a thin, torturous hope that does more harm than good. 

“Tomorrow” will be the day. I’ve lashed together a makeshift harness for a large pack of food and water and a bedroll. It’ll be just like our camping trips, Becks. I wish that we could go on them again someday, in whatever’s left of the world above.

If I find that the town has been leveled, I’ll head west after you, into the mountains.

God, please guide me home.

My love,

How I wish that I were writing you a love letter under different circumstances. I can’t remember hand-writing you a letter since I asked you to come with me to Madison back in college, but I hope you knew that every day we spent together was love letter enough for me.

Cora, you are my anchor and my home. My memories of you have sustained me in this dark and quiet place, and I am so very grateful for all the many years we shared together.

Please forgive me all the times I failed you. Know that I only ever wanted to make you happy, and I hope that I’ve accomplished that to some measure, despite my many shortcomings. Thank you for sticking it out with this old mop-pusher. I always wanted to be more for you, and it seemed like there was always something brighter just around the bend, but it looks like there wasn’t enough time. We sure made it work though, didn’t we, lady? We built our little nest and filled it with our bluebird, and a man couldn’t have asked for anything more wonderful than that.

Take care of Becks, my love. She’ll need you now more than ever before. Tell her often how much I loved her, won’t you? She’s growing to be so much like you, and I love her all the more for it. I saw her dancing with a boy at school, and some petty part of me wanted to grab the kid by the shoulders and give him a good talking to when he put his hands on her hips, but I guess that’s what dads do. But you should’ve seen her, Cora. She was so happy, and she looked so beautiful – she had that same bright look on her face that you had when we went and saw the baby penguins. Remember that?

God, I love you, Cora. When I climb out of here, I’m going to do whatever I can to find you. If I can’t, and what’s left of the world above takes me, then I’ll die with your name on my lips and with all my fond memories of you behind my eyes. If you and Rebecca are already there, in that Place After, then I hope to come swiftly to be with you again.

Goodbye, Cora. Think of me and I’ll be with you, always.

All my love,

Frank

Rebecca Marie,

My hand trembles as I try to write. How does a father summon the words to say goodbye to his only child? This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

My love for you is beyond expression, Becks. You are the laughter in my heart and the very warmth of my world, bluebird. I wish I could have done more to make you happy, and that I could have been more to make you proud of me. I understand why you didn’t always warm to me when we saw each other at school. It’s not too cool to be seen swapping hugs with your dad, even less so when he’s the janitor. But remember, if this reaches you, that hard work and an honest living are more important than the money a person makes. Whatever you do and wherever life takes you, know that your dad has always and will always be so very proud of you, my dear. 

Please bear me no ill feeling for all the times I was sharp with you. Sometimes parents have to be that way. I tried to be the best dad I could to you, and while I may not have said it enough, you need to know that I love you more than anything in the whole world, Becks.

I have a confession to make: I sneaked away from work during that spring formal in April and kept an eye on you. I was supposed to be across campus mopping the halls, but some things are just more important than work, kiddo. I wish there was enough time in the world for you to grow to understand.

Your mom and I had worried that you might have trouble making friends at first, because you were always a bit shy, but when I saw you in that circle laughing with all those girls, my heart swelled up and I knew you were going to be just fine. I thought, ‘How lucky those girls are to have a friend like her. They don’t even know what they’re in for.’

You looked so beautiful in your dress, with your hair all done up like that. Mom sure knows her stuff, huh? I may not get to see you grow up to become a woman – and it shatters my heart to think on that – but I caught a glimpse of it there on that dance floor, with you smiling into that boy’s face with those big green eyes your Mom gave you (lucky you). It was a wonderful thing to see, and I’m so thankful to have that, at least.

I wish that you had the chance to have a family of your own, to know for yourself the overwhelming joy that you’ve brought into our lives. You’re the best thing that ever happened to us, baby girl. I miss you so much, I feel like my heart is drowning. I know that every little girl dreams of her wedding day, but dads dream of these things too: I imagine walking you down the aisle, all grown-up and smiling and lovely, and you sharing a dance with your dad before you finally go off to start a family of your own.

I’m coming out into the world to find you now, and on my journey, my love for you and your mother will shield me as a blanket against the cold. If I don’t make it, never forget how much I loved you, but don’t grieve yourself mourning for me; be strong for your mother, and know that I’ll be looking after you both.

You’re my world, Becks. Goodbye, bluebird. God willing, I’ll be with you soon.

More love than you’ll ever know,

Dad