I intend to call you on New Year's Eve, as always. I really look forward to our talks. I don't know if the post office or the phone company makes more money off us.
When I got back to Homestead, your Christmas present was waiting for me. What a great surprise! You knitted this sweater for me by yourself? Dark blue, for the Air Force, of course. Seriously, Gale, it's beautiful. I just sort of stood over the package after opening it, running my hand across it. It felt soft and yet strong-like you. I never expected such a beautiful or thoughtful gift, Gale. Florida weather isn't very cool for very long, but I'll wear it every chance I get. Thanks.
This is the last installment to the story of my life. Letter #52. Here goes.
Presently, I'm stationed at Homestead AFB, in Florida, doing what I do best: flying. Sometimes, though, I get tired of the military machine and some of its stupider management decisions (and God knows, they abound in great proliferation). If I didn't like flying so much, I'd quit. But what else is there except flying?
I live on base, and the sound of jet engines lull me to sleep. I like that. The house is pretty empty to come home to sometimes. Just depends on what kind of mood I'm in, I guess. The television keeps me company-another human voice, to use your turn of phrase. There's no special lady in my life at the present. Maybe I'm looking for the impossible and I've set my sights too high. I like the fact women are coming into their own sense of identity. That's why I've al-ways admired you so much, Gale. You were a strong, independent woman long before it was popular.
My life revolves around my squadron and the duties therein. I'm lucky: I get paid to do something I love, which is to fly. Still, there's a hollowness in me I can't describe, can't seem to fill, no matter what I do. Maybe it's age or I'm mellowing. Possibly, even changing. Gadzooks! Did I say something personal? I must be getting old! Or maybe it's you. You're easy to talk to and share with.
There! That's it! So now, you've got the inside scoop on this jet jock. Now that it's all over, I don't feel as vulnerable as I did when I started writing my life story last Christmas. You're right: jet jocks are a flippant, arrogant lot who would never reveal their real feelings, their fears, hopes or dreams to anyone else. But I did to you and it felt kinda good. (Don't let that get around, or I'll never be able to live it down here with my squadron.)
On the other hand, I liked getting your letters about your growing-up years, going through ROTC in college and then into the Air Force. Unlike me, you never did have a tough outer image in front of the real you. I always knew you were a softy with a heart as large as this base. You do so much for others, Gale. I know Mike's parents really appreciate the fact you visited them last year. Mom told me it made them happy. I can't know what it cost you in terms of emotions, but I'm sure it was a hell of a lot. They're lost without word on Mike. You've managed to pick yourself up by your boot straps and continue on. God, I admire you for that. Is there a clone of you somewhere? I'd like to meet her.
Take care, sweet lady. I'll call you on New Year's Eve. A special gift for both of us. You're always in my thoughts.
Kyle
December 24, 1976
Dearest Kyle,
I'm going to miss getting your weekly letters. To be honest, your letters and phone calls have helped me stay centered during this awful period. You don't see that, though, do you? That's one of the reasons why I could face Mike's parents and stay with them. It was a cathartic experience, but I think, in some ways, healing for all of us.
Well, here's my Letter #52! Last one. I'm surprised you haven't fallen asleep over them yet! What a masochist you are at heart!
Right now, I'm living on base at Travis. The base housing here is Like it is everywhere: you can hear your neighbors through the walls. I'm surrounded by families on both sides of me and I really like that. Often, when I don't have duty at night, I'll baby-sit for Susan, who has three small children ranging in age from one through four, or Jackie, who has two, ages seven and ten.
I really enjoy the children. They give me so much hope. When I hear them laugh, I remember back to the good times when I laughed like that as a kid-or even as a grown-up. I especially remember laughing at something you had in every one of your letters. You have been wonderful in giving humor as a gift to me on days when I felt lower than a snake's belly, to use Susan's words. (She's from Texas, can you tell??)
This fall, I planted daffodils out front. The soil here is really bad, but I've tried to prepare it properly so I'll have at least three dozen plants poking their heads up in early March. It's nice to have something of home that you can bring along with you, isn't it? That's why I knitted you the sweater. To tell you the truth, that sweater was knitted during baby-sitting time. I'm surprised you didn't find a dab of jelly, a gob of sticky caramel or some other unidentifiable stain on it! The younger children especially loved to sit with me while I was knitting. And they love to touch things at their age. I ended up using a lot more yarn than it should have taken because they loved playing with it so much! Rather than them handling your burgeoning sweater, I let them play with the extra skeins I kept in my basket.
The kids have been good for me in a lot of ways. Nights are usually filled with helping Susan or Jackie (because both their husbands are SAC pilots who fly B-52s and are away more than they're home-sound familiar???). I've become Auntie Gale to the children, and I rather enjoy my status. There's something about a child's smile when it's given to you, or the touch of a child's hand that just can't be duplicated anywhere else in life. Do you like children, Kyle? I know you were an only child and never had the pleasure of sibling company. Let me know. I'm curious.
Take care. And you're right: enclosed is a huge bottle of vitamin C! You'd better be over your sniffles by the time the New Year call rolls around or you're in deep you-know-what. As always, you're in my heart and thoughts.
Your friend, Gale
December 20, 1977
Dearest Gale,
Another Christmas. Life goes on, doesn't it, whether we want it to or not? This letter will reach you down in Sedona. I'm sure Mike's folks are delighted you're there again for them. I don't see how you do it. You've got a hell of a lot more courage and internal fortitude than I would under your circumstances. Just your being there has got to lift their spirits. If you were here at Griffiss AFB, which is near Buffalo, New York, I'd give you a big hug and kiss for what you've done for them. You're one hell of a lady in my book.
Well, I'm finally settled into my new base-I have more responsibility, less flying time. I don't like that. If I wanted to fly a desk, I wouldn't have joined the Air Force.
Buffalo is-well, let's put it this way: it's not the most exciting place for a bachelor. We've already got a ton of snow. Hell of a change from my Florida base. I guess I live a life of extremes. I wear the sweater you knitted for me a lot nowadays when I'm off duty.
Until you told me, I often wondered what your favorite flower was. A daffodil. I pictured you like spring flowers, so I was close. Fall is my favorite time of year. I like the riot of color. Makes me think of some invisible painter who's gone wild with a palette of colors, slap dashing them here and there. I like the smells, too. Funny, since I've known you, you've put me more in touch with my senses. I never used to notice subtle shadings or pay attention to smells in general.
You're right: pilots are put in a little box, certain skills they possess brought out and honed to a fine degree, but everything else just sort of sits there, ignored and untended. You're a hell of a gardener, lady. I like being cultivated by you. I like seeing life through your eyes. It's made me see my world differently. Better.
Because of my transfer to Griffiss, I can't be home for Christmas with my parents. Too bad, I'd promised them I'd make it this year. I know you'll drop by and see them for me, you're that kind of lady. Don't tell my mother that I'm unhappy here. Lie. She tends to worry too much. I think she got all her gray hair while I was over at Udorn flying missions over Hanoi. I don't want to be responsible for any more gray hairs on her head. Worst of all, I can't be there while you're there. If nothing else, I could have offered you fortitude with Mike's parents and been there in case you needed a shoulder to cry on.