After Germany

Part Two: Now


January 3

Dear Tommy,

I know, I know. I’m totally ridiculous. You haven’t even left yet, and I’m already writing you a letter. But I really wanted you to have mail as soon as you got to Berlin.

I miss you already. I probably shouldn’t be getting myself worked up about it, but there you have it. I really am happy you’re going though. I know it’ll look good on your resume and all, but really. It’ll be such a grand adventure, I’m sure. I’m pretty damned jealous, actually. So remember everything you do and everywhere you go, and take lots of pictures! I can see you now. Even though you’re American, even though you have a camera everywhere you go, no one will think you’re a tourist, just because you have this calm poise about you in whatever you do. Not exactly the regular noisy, over-excited tourist everyone pictures in their head. You’ll make me proud.

Since by the time you get this, I won’t have thanked you again for the ring for at least, what? Ten hours? I’ll do it now. Thank you thank you thank you! I know you were worried about the scar on the bottom of the band, but I mean it. I really don’t want to get it fixed. That ring might be a little beat up, but it still shines like new. I like to think we’ll be the same way in forty years or so. Wow. I really am the little drama queen, aren’t I? But hey, at least I do crew, instead of being an actress or something equally illogical. And if all else fails, and no one will hire me to design and build a set, I can always do construction! (Admit it—the idea of me in a hard hat turns you on.)

I really do miss you. And so do your bowling balls. :)

Love,
Lissy



January 9

Lissy—

I was pretty pumped when I got here yesterday, and there was already mail in my box. I can’t believe how busy I’ve been! When I got off the plane, I found a cab to take me to the University. I had some trouble finding my dorm: turns out my German is a little rustier than I thought it was. I think it’s coming back to me now though, thank God. Things would get a little hairy otherwise. Anyway, I did eventually find my room. My roomie seems pretty weird, I have to say. He told me that he got up every morning at six, so I’d better have my lights out by nine. Nine! I thought that in Europe everyone stayed up later. Apparently not. That, or I’ve got the one noodle in the entire continent. Or does one say Continent? “I used to summer on the Continent. Fancy a snog?” God. I can’t believe that I remember that line. Or that I actually blew off a nap to watch “Josie and the Pussycats” with you. I would watch it again, though, if it meant you were here with me. I do miss you, Lissy girl. I can’t get you off my mind. I even composed a little song about you on the plane. It goes like this:

Lissy, Lissy, Lissy,
The girl that (whom?) I am missing
Except her PMSing
To that I am confessing

That’s all I’ve got so far. How do you like it? Ha ha. Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll sing it for you when I get a chance to call. That might be pretty irregularly, though, with the time differences. Especially since I’ll be doing so much research in the countryside for days on end. I really hope my German is good again by then—I start on Thursday!

You should tell Granny what you told me about the ring. I think she’d think that was pretty cool. Or “darling,” as she would say. Maybe it wouldn’t sound so funny is she didn’t have such a thick accent. Oh, well. “Darling” is a sight better than the brief time she decided to try to be hip. Then she really did say “cool” all the time. It was terrible, Lissy! I totally got smacked on the knuckles with a wooden spoon when I accidently laughed. Truly, that woman is a menace.

I’m glad to hear you have a backup career planned. That way, I can be the poor scholarly teacher, and you can support me and feed our kids! :) And, yeah, I definitely wouldn’t mind seeing you in a hard hat and work boots—and nothing else. Hmm, this might encourage some plotting for when I get home...

Love,
Tommy



January 19

Dear Tommy,

That was so funny about your grandma! It totally deflated my motivation to call her up to tell her about the ring to hear that she might say that, and I might start laughing too. And I could just see her driving all the way over here, just to rap my knuckles. And then the ring would really be beat up!

The nuns in grade school used to rap our knuckles sometimes with rulers. And you couldn’t even hate them for it, because they’re nuns, you know? I think hating a nun counts as a mortal sin. Or at least one hell of a lot of Hail Marys. Catholic school sucks.

Anyway, I want to hear all about your forays into the countryside. Found any rural pockets with really good oral literature so far? Meet any cool people? Have any adventures? Hopefully you’re all practiced up on your German by now.

Speaking of German, is your roommate German? Maybe he’s an American in disguise, like a spy or something, and he has to get up really early to call the president, and if you disturb his rest, and he gets sleep-deprived, he’ll screw up his mission, and terrorists will bomb Indiana.

Or maybe he’s just the only noodle on the Continent. (I can’t believe you remember that movie! I thought you had slept through it!)

Classes are tough this semester. I’m in Latin. I don’t know what got into my head that I thought that taking Latin would be a good idea—some kind of idiot germ, maybe. It’s so hard! There are six kinds of conjunctions—no, I mean, conjugations. I think that’s what I mean, anyway. On the plus side, there’s always theater—right now we’re building the set of “Secret Garden.” It’s going to be so cool! Really tall trees, and the wall the scenic director has designed looks very ominous. It kind of looms over the rest of the set. And then, as she works in the garden to make it pretty again, and as the hole household becomes nice again, it gets tamer and tamer looking, till it’s as pretty as a picture. I think he plans to do that with a combination of various fake dead plants and thorns and stuff, and lighting. It should look really neat, I think. If only the actors never came! It seems they always break something, or tip something over, or lose the only crucial prop you need in the next 1.27 seconds. Ha ha! Amber gets so mad at me when I say things like that. I told her last time that I didn’t consider her an actress, oh no. She is one of those lofty beings called performers, and that is totally different. I think I wouldn’t make a half-bad actress myself, because she fell for it. I love her dearly—except last fall during “Lysistrata,” when her fake breast got caught on the bed frame, and when she tried to pull away from her “husband,” she pulled the bed frame right off one of the castors we had put it on. It took five people to carry that thing off the stage at the end of the scene, instead of the two people it normally took to wheel it off. That day, I wanted to take that stuffed boob and—and twist the nipple off!

Your own skills at entertainment leave a little to be desired as well, judging by that song! I had to show it to Amber, you know I did. She laughed so hard! She’s all, “yeah, you really kind of are a bitch when you PMS, Melissa.” And I’m all, “Gee, thanks. Unfaltering support no matter which way I turn.” :) I can’t wait to hear it! Okay, okay, that’s a lie. But I really can’t wait to hear from you. I never considered that it might be hard to sleep at night without you there. Last night I decided that your bowling balls were probably missing you as much as I am, so I took one to bed with me. Yeah, that didn’t work so well—it totally pinched my thigh between it and the mattress! I refrained from tossing out the window, though, you’ll be glad to hear.

So, bye for now from me and your naughty bowling balls!

Love,
Lissy