My Lady Catherine,
The look in your eyes frightened me this morning. They were so shallow, so cold, so despairing. The twins and I are locked in this nightmare just as you are, and yet neither Carrie nor Cory look as forlorn as you, and while I hate living here like this, I don't feel the madness that is so evident in your eyes. What makes it so different for you?
You've changed so much over the past year. You used to be bright and alive, impressionable and innocent. Now, after living in a single room with a dusty attic for a playground for a full year, you're no longer the sweet Cathy I used to know. Now you're dark and cynical. You are depressed all of the time, even when we do have a fun day, like when we put on plays for the twins or when we spend hours playing an exciting game of Monopoly. You seem to have no hope left for our future. No hope left for the outdoors and for sunshine and for the happiness we once knew, before Daddy died.
Why? Why can't you accept that we have to make sacrifices now in order to be fulfilled later? Why can't you accept that Momma really is doing the best she can for now, and that she's trying as hard as she can to get us out of here?
Maybe I'll never know why.
Maybe I'll never understand you. But I wish you'd help me to understand, because I hate seeing you so sad, so depressed. You're my sister and I love you, and it hurts to see you with dismal, hopeless eyes and with a perpetual frown. Isn't there anything I can do to make you feel better?
Maybe what I'm going to say next will bring at least small smile to your lips. It's something I could never say to your face, because men just don't know how to say these things aloud. And don't tease me about all this later, for this is a very serious thing, and I'm only writing it because I truly think it needs to be said.
Anyway, the real reason for this letter is to tell you how proud I am of you. Even in these harsh conditions, and even though I know you're feeling as dark as the black night sky, you've shown that you're not a girl anymore. You're a woman, a woman who takes responsibility and does what needs to be done without a second's thought. You sure have matured, Cathy. You're a wonderful mother to the twins when our real mother isn't here for them. You're a great "housewife" to our little family, keeping things organized and functional. I admire all this.
And most of all I admire the friend you've been to me. In the past year I've learned more about you than I knew in all the twelve years of your life in Gladstone. And what I've learned is that you're an emotional, thoughtful person who has great passion and ambition inside of her. You're a loving and generous person who I am proud to call my sister. If I didn't have you here to keep me company, to teach and to learn from, to argue and debate with, and most of all to love, I don't know what I would do. And so I want to thank you for being such a great sister, and I hope I am a good brother to you. You deserve the best brother and I'll do whatever it takes to give you what you deserve.
What you really deserve is happiness. And I know happiness is elusive here in this place. It all too often gets snared in the sprawling cobwebs of the attic. But haven't we learned that with a little care and patience, even the dustiest corner can be cleaned? Maybe all you have to do is wipe away the dirt and see the beauty that lies underneath. Maybe all you have to do is forget the ugly things and think only of the good, and of the future and all that lies ahead of us.
Please, if you are ever feeling as sad as you were this morning, tell me what to do to make it a little better. Tell me what to do when your eyes are as empty and unforgiving as they were today. Let me know the things to say to bring a little life back into your face.
Because I'd say anything, Cathy, to see that lovely smile of yours.
Chris
July 6, 1958
The look in your eyes frightened me this morning. They were so shallow, so cold, so despairing. The twins and I are locked in this nightmare just as you are, and yet neither Carrie nor Cory look as forlorn as you, and while I hate living here like this, I don't feel the madness that is so evident in your eyes. What makes it so different for you?
You've changed so much over the past year. You used to be bright and alive, impressionable and innocent. Now, after living in a single room with a dusty attic for a playground for a full year, you're no longer the sweet Cathy I used to know. Now you're dark and cynical. You are depressed all of the time, even when we do have a fun day, like when we put on plays for the twins or when we spend hours playing an exciting game of Monopoly. You seem to have no hope left for our future. No hope left for the outdoors and for sunshine and for the happiness we once knew, before Daddy died.
Why? Why can't you accept that we have to make sacrifices now in order to be fulfilled later? Why can't you accept that Momma really is doing the best she can for now, and that she's trying as hard as she can to get us out of here?
Maybe I'll never know why.
Maybe I'll never understand you. But I wish you'd help me to understand, because I hate seeing you so sad, so depressed. You're my sister and I love you, and it hurts to see you with dismal, hopeless eyes and with a perpetual frown. Isn't there anything I can do to make you feel better?
Maybe what I'm going to say next will bring at least small smile to your lips. It's something I could never say to your face, because men just don't know how to say these things aloud. And don't tease me about all this later, for this is a very serious thing, and I'm only writing it because I truly think it needs to be said.
Anyway, the real reason for this letter is to tell you how proud I am of you. Even in these harsh conditions, and even though I know you're feeling as dark as the black night sky, you've shown that you're not a girl anymore. You're a woman, a woman who takes responsibility and does what needs to be done without a second's thought. You sure have matured, Cathy. You're a wonderful mother to the twins when our real mother isn't here for them. You're a great "housewife" to our little family, keeping things organized and functional. I admire all this.
And most of all I admire the friend you've been to me. In the past year I've learned more about you than I knew in all the twelve years of your life in Gladstone. And what I've learned is that you're an emotional, thoughtful person who has great passion and ambition inside of her. You're a loving and generous person who I am proud to call my sister. If I didn't have you here to keep me company, to teach and to learn from, to argue and debate with, and most of all to love, I don't know what I would do. And so I want to thank you for being such a great sister, and I hope I am a good brother to you. You deserve the best brother and I'll do whatever it takes to give you what you deserve.
What you really deserve is happiness. And I know happiness is elusive here in this place. It all too often gets snared in the sprawling cobwebs of the attic. But haven't we learned that with a little care and patience, even the dustiest corner can be cleaned? Maybe all you have to do is wipe away the dirt and see the beauty that lies underneath. Maybe all you have to do is forget the ugly things and think only of the good, and of the future and all that lies ahead of us.
Please, if you are ever feeling as sad as you were this morning, tell me what to do to make it a little better. Tell me what to do when your eyes are as empty and unforgiving as they were today. Let me know the things to say to bring a little life back into your face.
Because I'd say anything, Cathy, to see that lovely smile of yours.
Chris
July 6, 1958