Dear Chris,
How strange it feels to write you a letter. When in the past three years have you not been in the same room as I or only a minute away in the bathroom or attic? You are always right there at my side, like an extension of myself, ready to listen to whatever I have to say. But tonight, you're not. You're probably pilfering through Momma's dresser drawers right this moment, looking for loose coins or dollar bills to steal away. And it's not that I have anything to say, really; I just get so scared whenever you pass quietly through the door of our prison, and writing to you comforts me a little. I get really terrified, Chris, you couldn't imagine! My heart pounds five times as fast and I feel ready to explode with anxiety until you appear in that doorway again.
Cory threw up again a few minutes ago. I managed to get him into bed and he fell asleep right away, and he's so pale and still right now it looks as if he's just a corpse. It's scary, Chris. Horrifying to see him like this and know that true death isn't that far away… for any of us. I know you'll say I'm just being morbid, but death occupies my mind so much of the time that I feel like the Grim Reaper himself is hovering forever over my shoulder. So many things could kill us here: sickness, lack of nutrition, fire, or who knows, the Grandmother could even be poisoning us.
I hope you hurry back. Whenever you're away my emotions seem to run rampant, the kind of emotions that make me feel guilty. When you're here, it's easier to look at you with the twins and see you as the big brother you've always been to us. As strange as it seems, it's easier to push these sinful feelings away when you're near me… perhaps because I'm so afraid of acting on them, so I know I must push them away. But when you're gone, all I have left of you is what's in my imagination, and you know how my imagination can run away with me. I fantasize that you really are the knight in shining armor I used to talk about, and that you will storm in here to rescue us all, and be not Christopher Dollanganger, my brother, but some other man, nameless, but with your same beautiful face, your gentle and caressing hands and your eyes that seem to look into the very core of me. I fantasize other things, Chris. Things that I shouldn't be thinking about at all, especially not where you are concerned.
Do you think God can see into our minds? The Grandmother says He can see everything we do; but can He see into our hearts' eye? Can He see the love I feel for you isn't sisterly love, but isn't evil or sinful, either? For how can something that saves me, keeps me clinging to life and to hope and faith, day after treacherous, toiling day, be wrong? We aren't hurting anyone when we kiss or touch and we certainly don't mean to hurt anyone. We're only trying to give each other comfort, right? We're only trying to make our own sunshine when the heavy drapes keep the real light away from us. So why, then, is it wrong?
Chris, I've been thinking of this since we first heard the story of our mother's sinful marriage to her half-uncle, our father. They were wonderful parents to us, always loving and caring and we never wanted for anything. They did nothing evil or bad that I can remember. They were not murderers or thieves. They went to church and did not worship Satan. They hurt no one with their marriage, so why is it so bad? Why must incest be such an irreversible and unforgivable sin against God if it's not committed cruelly or sadistically, but only in pure love and goodness?
I know you can't answer any of these questions any better than I can. Perhaps no one can answer them, not even the Grandmother - not that I would ever ask her, anyway. Or maybe one day I will ask her. One day, when we're free and healthy and living our own lives, I will come back to her, and confront her about this all, and ask what was so evil about four children who never did a single bad thing to anyone. Why did four children who never even knew the truth about their so-called sinning parents deserve such punishment? When we are tall and strong and not afraid of her monstrosity and the whip she wields so ruthlessly, maybe she'll speak to us without contempt, and maybe she will have a real answer for us instead of hiding behind her precious Bible and the written word of God that, in my opinion, is sometimes very wrong. Maybe one day she'll realize the real sinners were not us, who have tried so much to repent for the sins we never committed and to earn only a little of her respect and love; but that the sinner is she who has shown only hate and violence to her own flesh and blood.
But until that day, what is there to do but sit here at the table, writing all these pointless, rambling thoughts to you while Cory lies like a corpse in his bed, and his small sister clings faithlessly to his side. What is there to do but try not to think of the pain, the fear, and the hopelessness, and try our very best to look towards the future and know it will be bright and warm and full of sunshine.
But sometimes that's so hard to do. Especially when you're not here to promise me that brightness and warmth and sunshine. Chris, you are my brightness. You are my warmth and you are my sunshine. I need you more than anything else in this world. Without you there is no world.
So hurry back to this room, please.
Loving you,
Cathy
April 8, 1960
How strange it feels to write you a letter. When in the past three years have you not been in the same room as I or only a minute away in the bathroom or attic? You are always right there at my side, like an extension of myself, ready to listen to whatever I have to say. But tonight, you're not. You're probably pilfering through Momma's dresser drawers right this moment, looking for loose coins or dollar bills to steal away. And it's not that I have anything to say, really; I just get so scared whenever you pass quietly through the door of our prison, and writing to you comforts me a little. I get really terrified, Chris, you couldn't imagine! My heart pounds five times as fast and I feel ready to explode with anxiety until you appear in that doorway again.
Cory threw up again a few minutes ago. I managed to get him into bed and he fell asleep right away, and he's so pale and still right now it looks as if he's just a corpse. It's scary, Chris. Horrifying to see him like this and know that true death isn't that far away… for any of us. I know you'll say I'm just being morbid, but death occupies my mind so much of the time that I feel like the Grim Reaper himself is hovering forever over my shoulder. So many things could kill us here: sickness, lack of nutrition, fire, or who knows, the Grandmother could even be poisoning us.
I hope you hurry back. Whenever you're away my emotions seem to run rampant, the kind of emotions that make me feel guilty. When you're here, it's easier to look at you with the twins and see you as the big brother you've always been to us. As strange as it seems, it's easier to push these sinful feelings away when you're near me… perhaps because I'm so afraid of acting on them, so I know I must push them away. But when you're gone, all I have left of you is what's in my imagination, and you know how my imagination can run away with me. I fantasize that you really are the knight in shining armor I used to talk about, and that you will storm in here to rescue us all, and be not Christopher Dollanganger, my brother, but some other man, nameless, but with your same beautiful face, your gentle and caressing hands and your eyes that seem to look into the very core of me. I fantasize other things, Chris. Things that I shouldn't be thinking about at all, especially not where you are concerned.
Do you think God can see into our minds? The Grandmother says He can see everything we do; but can He see into our hearts' eye? Can He see the love I feel for you isn't sisterly love, but isn't evil or sinful, either? For how can something that saves me, keeps me clinging to life and to hope and faith, day after treacherous, toiling day, be wrong? We aren't hurting anyone when we kiss or touch and we certainly don't mean to hurt anyone. We're only trying to give each other comfort, right? We're only trying to make our own sunshine when the heavy drapes keep the real light away from us. So why, then, is it wrong?
Chris, I've been thinking of this since we first heard the story of our mother's sinful marriage to her half-uncle, our father. They were wonderful parents to us, always loving and caring and we never wanted for anything. They did nothing evil or bad that I can remember. They were not murderers or thieves. They went to church and did not worship Satan. They hurt no one with their marriage, so why is it so bad? Why must incest be such an irreversible and unforgivable sin against God if it's not committed cruelly or sadistically, but only in pure love and goodness?
I know you can't answer any of these questions any better than I can. Perhaps no one can answer them, not even the Grandmother - not that I would ever ask her, anyway. Or maybe one day I will ask her. One day, when we're free and healthy and living our own lives, I will come back to her, and confront her about this all, and ask what was so evil about four children who never did a single bad thing to anyone. Why did four children who never even knew the truth about their so-called sinning parents deserve such punishment? When we are tall and strong and not afraid of her monstrosity and the whip she wields so ruthlessly, maybe she'll speak to us without contempt, and maybe she will have a real answer for us instead of hiding behind her precious Bible and the written word of God that, in my opinion, is sometimes very wrong. Maybe one day she'll realize the real sinners were not us, who have tried so much to repent for the sins we never committed and to earn only a little of her respect and love; but that the sinner is she who has shown only hate and violence to her own flesh and blood.
But until that day, what is there to do but sit here at the table, writing all these pointless, rambling thoughts to you while Cory lies like a corpse in his bed, and his small sister clings faithlessly to his side. What is there to do but try not to think of the pain, the fear, and the hopelessness, and try our very best to look towards the future and know it will be bright and warm and full of sunshine.
But sometimes that's so hard to do. Especially when you're not here to promise me that brightness and warmth and sunshine. Chris, you are my brightness. You are my warmth and you are my sunshine. I need you more than anything else in this world. Without you there is no world.
So hurry back to this room, please.
Loving you,
Cathy
April 8, 1960