EVOCATION

The return address on the yellow manila envelope was very familiar, although the name was not.

Inside a note was folded over a regular envelope. It read:

Hi!

We don't know each other. This came in my mail last week. Looks like it's years past forwarding! Looked up your address on line. Hopefully you're the right Rachel.

The envelope was faded and dirty. A note was scrawled on the back:

Found stuck between kitchen drawers while renovating.

I flipped the envelope over. It was addressed to me at the place I lived during my '20's.

The return address wasn't familiar.. I took out a knife and slit the the top open.

I pulled out 2 pages of plain typing paper which had been used for stationary.

I read the first two lines. My hands starting shaking.

I set the letter down, I poured a glass of wine, gulped down half, then refilled it.

With wine and letter in hand, I curled up on the couch. I turned off the ringer on my phone, and started to read.

Dear Rachel,

I don't know where, or how, to begin.

First, and foremost, I have to apologize. I never wanted to cause you any pain and I know I hurt you deeply. You will never fully understand how much I regret that. 

"Aw, c'mon, Rachel. I don't want to go alone!"

"No, Mindy. You've dragged me to one too many single mixers. They're boring and I never met anyone I wanted to date."

"Please?"

"No. Just go by yourself. You have a better chance if you're not with me."

"I can't. I need you as a safety net."

"Gee, thanks."

"I didn't mean it like that. I meant that I need an excuse if I get trapped by some schlemiel....OK. I did mean it like that. But....please? It's not like you have anything planned for tonight."

I moved the phone cord and stretched out on the couch. I was snuggled in my velour track suit and was contemplating taking a nap. "I really don't feel like doing the whole dress-up bit. Besides, it's too cold!"

"It's at Tavern on the Green."

"Hmm?"

"It'll be beautiful...all those twinkling white lights, reflecting off the snow..."

"Now you're just being mean."

"It'll be fun. We can laugh at the girls desperate to catch a doctor or lawyer...'

"Oh, please!" 

"....and the short ugly guys hoping a pretty girl will talk to them."

Despite myself, I chuckled. 

"Well...."

"Yes? You'll come?"

"Only if we set a time limit."

"Okay."

"I'm serious. One hour. In and out."

"Hour and a half."

"One hour. Or no go."

"OK. What are you going to wear?"

"Something that makes me look tall. "

I guess the best place is to start at the beginning.

It's ironic that I didn't want to go to the mixer. The last thing in my mind was meeting someone. As a first year Resident I was on a 24 hour on / 24 hour off schedule. My body couldn't adapt and kept thinking someone could die because I was exhausted. It was an inhumane level of pressure. I seriously considered quitting before I cracked.

When my brother suggested a change of scenery and, perhaps, a fun distraction, I agreed to keep him company.

The Single Mingle was as bad as I anticipated.. Everyone stood around, awkwardly holding their drinks, waiting. The music was loud with no place to dance. After 15 minutes I turned to Mindy. "OK. Let's go."

"You haven't given it a chance," she replied, while smiling at a smarmy guy in a tan three piece suit across the room.""You promised an hour."

I sighed audibly. "OK. I'm going to do a walk through. You go talk to Mr. Slick over there. Ask him if that's his only suit. Bet it is."

I entered the crowd, feeling eyes on me. Men's glances were like hands, running up and down my body, ending at my face if I kept their interest that long. The women looked at my face first, then proceeded to calculate the cost of my outfit, determine if my handbag was designer or fake, looked for roots in my highlighted hair.

I moved with confidence, head high, fake smile on my lips, looking straight ahead at no one. No eye contact. It wasn't my first rodeo.

"Hey. How are ya tonight?" 

Forty-five minutes left. I could pass the time with a conversation.

"Fine How are you?" 

"Much better now." Nervous chuckle. "I'm Seymour. Friends call me Sy.”

"I'm Rachel. Friends call me Chel." Total lie.

"OK. Chel. Are you having a good time?"

"No. Not really. I came with a friend. That's her in the red sweater over there, talking to the tall guy in the 3 piece suit." I gave her a finger flutter wave. She waved back, a huge smile on her face.

Apparently, she and Mr. Smarm were hitting it off.

"So....what do you do?"

"When?" I felt a little cruel, knowing I was going to be stuck among the lonely for more than the allotted hour.

Another nervous chuckle. I could see beads of sweat near his receding hairline, which was at my eye level.

"Ha ha. Funny. For work. What do you do?"

"I sell encyclopedias."

"Haha. Funny girl." 

I hate being called a girl.

"Seriously. What do you do?"

"I sell encyclopedias. That's what I do. Why do you think that's funny? "

"No. I don't. I just thought...Well. I never met anyone who did that. It must be....interesting."

“No. It's boring." I yawned, and looked around the room. Mindy was still chatting up a storm. "What do you do? " The $100,000 question.

Sy straightened up to his full 5'6”. "I'm a lawyer!"

Ding, ding, ding! Ladies, and gentlemen! We have a winner! Which lovely Jewish girl will take home this coveted professional?

"Oh."

"I'm with one of the top firms in the city. I went to Yale, where I made law review." As he droned on, I fantasized of being home in my flannel pajamas with a cup of tea and the latest Stephen King thriller. I decided that Mindy could fend for herself. Without a word, I turned away and headed towards the door.

Through the din of the music, I thought I heard someone calling to me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the top of Sy's balding head bobbing through the crowd towards me. "Chel! Chel!

I quickened my pace, towards the door, eyes on the prize.

There was a break in the music and I heard “Rachel!” Shouted.

I turned to see Sy standing on a chair. I met his eyes.

"But, Rachel,” he said plaintively, “ I'm a lawyer.”

Head down, I quickly towards the exit. People parted to let me through. "Make way for Rachel." "Here comes Rachel." "Move. Rachel needs to get away from the lawyer."

I felt my face burning. I retrieved my jacket from the coat check and then let Mindy know I was taking off. Mr. Smarm had his arm around her waist.

"Are you leaving?"

I turned around. Tall guy, pleasant face. 

"Yes."

"I was hoping to talk to you." Nice smile.

"Well, better talk fast. "

He laughed. A genuine laugh. "I'm David. No need to introduce yourself. I'm aware that you are Rachel The Infamous, Loather of Lawyers."

I smiled. "And doctors.. Unlike every other woman here."

"Why don't you like doctors?""

My grandfather's a doctor. My uncle's a doctor. My father wanted to be a doctor. My sister is married to a doctor. Every conversation is about medical stuff. Diseases in detail. Ugh. Haven't be able to enjoy a family meal in years.'

"I'm a doctor."

"The man has a sense of humor."

"No, I really am a doctor. I'm a Resident at Brookdale Hospital."

"Ah, well. It was nice meeting you anyway. Have a good night." I turned to leave.

" May I call you?"

“Sure.”

As I walked away I could almost feel the warmth of tea.

"Wait! I don't know your last name."

"Kosin."

You were unlike every other woman that night. Others would have been embarrassed by the lawyer standing on the chair, shouting your name, but you floated through the crowd with such grace, with an amused smile on your face. I liked that you didn't take it seriously.

My heart dropped when I saw you leaving. When you walked back in I had to talk to you. I had to meet you.

The following day Mindy called to tell me all about Mike a/k/a/Mr. Smarm. I made appropriate encouraging sounds. Mike would keep her entertained for awhile, which meant I was off the hook accompanying her to mixers.

I hadn't given David another thought, so his call a few evenings later took me by surprise.

"How did you get my number?"

"Phone book."

I was a little impressed that he went through the effort of tracking me down.

I chatted politely for a few minutes then excused myself, saying I had plans.

"May I take you to dinner?"

"Are you still a doctor?"

"Yes."

"Then my answer is no. But it was fun talking."

"May I call you again?"

“I can't stop you.”

When I got home I looked you up in the phone book. I wrote down your name and number. I slept well for the first time in months.

I wanted to call the next day, but I was back on the 24 on/off schedule.

When I got home from work I called as soon as I walked in the door.

David called again a few nights later. This time we talked about everything. We shared the same taste in books and movies. We discovered we grew up a few towns from each other, and that our birthdays were 2 day apart. He regaled me with stories from work, and I shared some of mine. We laughed a lot during the hour and a half.

He confessed he needed to get some sleep before reporting to the hospital at 5 am.

"Will you have dinner with me?"

I sighed. I really enjoyed talking to him but wrestled with the fact that he was a doctor.

"Well?"

"Alright," I said, "But only so I can tell my mother I went out with a nice Jewish doctor."

I wasn't familiar with your neighborhood restaurants on the Upper West Side. I wanted to take you to the perfect place. Small, quiet with good food.

David arrived precisely at seven, holding a single yellow rose. His original gesture made me heart skip a beat.

We went to a great place a few blocks from my apartment. The votive candles on the tables cast a pleasing light, and the music was unobtrusive. I don't remember what we ate, or how much wine we drank.

I remember how the waiter came over to retrieve the bill. He whispered in my ear that they needed to close. It was then I realized we had been the only guests in the restaurant for the past hour.

When we were outside I couldn't wait until the end of the evening. I needed to kiss you.

When we left the restaurant, we held hands. At the corner, you tilted my chin and kissed me. In that moment, I felt like the world stopped.

I walked you home. Your hand was soft and warm in mine. My mind was empty of everything. I was just....feeling. Does that make sense?

We walked back to my place.. I felt peaceful and secure, exactly where I was meant to be. After a kiss goodnight, you left, on call early the next day.

The next day I had trouble concentrating. My thoughts kept drifting to you. Your smile. Your laugh. How I felt complete when we kissed.

We decided to spend your day off together. We went for brunch on Columbus Avenue. I was lost in you. We were at a window table. Tiny hints of auburn glimmered in your dark blond hair in the sunlight. Your eyes were a soft brown, like creamy mocha.

I remember our first daytime date. It was unseasonably warm.

The day was mild for March. We meandered, no destination in mind. We browsed at the flea market and sat by the fountain at Lincoln Center. On the walk home, you bought flowers at every sidewalk vendor. Stargazer lilies, and tulips, roses, and ferns and baby's breath.

If I could have bought you the world that day, I would have. 

As the weeks went on, we saw each other whenever you weren't working. Even if it had only been a few days, I was overwhelmed each time I saw you. I felt incomplete without you.

I told my mother I had fallen in love.

Every moment I wasn't working, I wanted to be with you. I was exhausted all the time, not getting enough sleep. 24 hours on / 24 hours off is brutal. If you ever go to an emergency room, make sure you're seen by the attending physician. You don't want a Resident in charge of your life."

You were so tired. You often fell asleep on the couch. I'd cover you with a blanket and go next door to Diane and Marcy's for coffee. You'd still be asleep when I got back. My heart ached for you.

My Attending reminded us that these were the most important years of our medical careers. We needed to put everything else in our lives on hold. Our families didn't come first anymore. We shouldn't even think about dating. "And, whatever you do, don't get pregnant."

Although it was difficult, we limited seeing each other to one night a week. I had no interest in work, and dinner with friends was more obligatory than fun.

My parents were holocaust survivors. My brothers and sister and I were raised with an incredible amount of guilt. We had to be the best. We had to work harder than everyone else. We had to become successful, to make up for the millions of Jews who perished in the death camps. The only way to stay safe was through personal success.  I was passionate about music composition, but my parents told me that music would never save my life. They decided I would be a doctor. I couldn't refuse my parents. It was the way I was raised.

The once weekly dates became sporadic. When we were together, I could feel David pulling away. I assumed it was temporary, just stress from work.

I told my parents that I met the woman I wanted to marry. Yes, Rachel, I was very much in love with you. 

My father didn't talk to me, and my mother took to her bed, crying. How dare I do this to them. How dare I throw away everything they worked so hard for. A privileged life in America. A home. Food. A good education. I was an ungrateful son. They may as well have died in the death camps.

How could I choose between you and them? If I chose you, my parents would cover the mirrors and sit Shiva. I would be dead to them.

When the calls stopped, I was devastated. Had I done something? Had he met someone? Had something terrible happened? 

I finally called. We met for coffee.

I didn't think I could face you. How could I tell the woman I loved I couldn't see you any more? What would you think of me, when I told you the reason? You would hate me. I didn't want to see that in your eyes.

I understood the reason, but that only made it harder to accept. He broke my heart.

I wanted to be strong in front of you, because if you started to cry I would have lost it. After you got in the cab to go uptown, I wept. My heart was broken.

A new page. Different paper. Stationary. A textured vellum. The handwriting was more controlled. The ink was smoother.

I found this letter I wrote to you 15 years ago. You deserved to know the truth. I was too much of a coward to mail it.

I hope you are well, and happy, and living a wonderful life with a man that understands how incredibly lucky he is.

I didn't date anyone for years. Not surprisingly, my parents pressured me to get married, give them grandchildren. Carry on the legacy born out of the death camps.

I married a woman young enough to give them lots of grandchildren, although we had nothing in common. I quickly discovered she married for a lifestyle, not a husband. She didn't marry for love. But then, neither did I.

We ended up divorcing after a few years. That, and the fact that I didn't have children, estranged me from my parents. After all I went through, I still didn't do right by them, as far as they were concerned.

I try not to live with any regrets, but I should have never have let you go. 

I am torn between mailing this, and not. Perhaps it's because I'm afraid it will disrupt you life and, at the same time, fearful that it won't.

I entered the bedroom that I shared with my husband and cat. I opened my closet and reached under my Winter coat. My hands found the round hat box which belonged to my grandmother. I pulled it out and removed the top. I placed the letter under the yellow rose I pressed many years before. I gently replaced the lid then pushed my secrets back into their dark place.

END