Thursday, April 13
Dear Oliver,
Today didn't go well.
I didn't get much sleep last night. I have been very troubled by my extended stay. I decided to go by Steve's office. I admit that my disposition wasn't pleasant. First I asked if there was any way that you could be informed that my return was delayed. I wanted you to know that I was all right and would be returning as soon as possible. He said no. I let Steve know that I wanted to be released as soon as possible. I told him that I was sure that the DLO needed me. He seemed indignant and assured me that they would not keep me one day more than necessary. I think I've heard that before. Then the argument started.
He asked if I was "pining away for a dead letter office or the guy who worked there." It was a dig.
He didn't stop. He said that maybe I should ask myself whether my returning to Denver actually mattered to the people at the dead letter office.
I said, "You mean Oliver."
He said, "You bet I do."
He said that if you really wanted me back, that you could have called Washington at least one time to see if there was any information concerning me. He said as he remembered it, you encouraged me to leave. He said that if my work in Denver was so important then why did you so readily let me go. He said that apparently the DLO and you could manage without me.
Then he went for the heart.
He asked if I had any real reason to believe that you cared for me, were in love with me. He asked me why you didn't take me in your arms when we said goodbye and kiss me like a man saying goodbye to the woman he loved.
I told him that he was way out of line, that he was never to speak of you like that again, and stormed out of his office.
An hour later Steve came to find me and apologized. He said that he was out of line and that he had no right to say those things. He said the stress of the moment was getting to us all and that he was under enormous pressure from the top brass. He told me that he was terribly sorry and asked me to forgive him. He said that hoped to make it up to me. He said that he really needed me, that the operation needed me. He said that he couldn't afford for me to leave yet.
Forgiveness, that is the right thing to do. But Oliver, his words hurt. It hurt because I wasn't certain of the answers. I began to wonder about, about us. On the one hand, I'm sure that out of respect for me, you wouldn't interfere in my making my own decisions. On the other hand, as another letter writer once asked, why did you let me go?
I began to question why we can't successfully complete one date.
The kiss, that brief kiss, on steps at the jazz club meant the world to me. What did it mean to you?
You are at home, surrounded by people who love you. You work with Norman and Rita, two people who you cherish. You have a real chance to be with your dad. Do you even miss me?
You have your church. Are you enjoying choir practice – with Dale?
Do you resent the fact that I left? Do you trust me to return?
Will we ever share the letters that I have written? Or will you simply ask me to return your pen?
No Oliver, today didn't go well.
Shane