Things Are Missing

Monday, July 31, 1950

112 West 86th Street

New York City, NY



Dear Art,

I sit here alone tonight writing to you.  That’s right – no one’s here.

Something’s odd around here, darling.  My typewriter has disappeared.  I’ve looked all over and can’t find it.  I’m worried about that.  I’m pretty sure Shirl or Betty wouldn’t have lugged it home, but I’ll ask Shirl if she knows about it tomorrow.  I hope it hasn’t been stolen.  Other things were out of place, too.  Like my artwork.  It’s against the wall where I left it, but the portfolio the drawings were in is missing.  I don’t know what to think.

Fashion illustration by
June Anderson.

Maybe I should start from the beginning.

This morning, I packed my suitcase and wandered to the station for the 8:33 train.  I knew I was early – the station was almost deserted.  So I went into the paper store for a magazine.  When I put my suitcase down, the owner looked at me and said, “Where do you think you’re going?”  That’s when I began to suspect something was wrong.  It was.  It seems the 8:33 train doesn’t run on weekdays since the coal shortage.

So I came in on the 3:48 train.  I’m sorry now that I did.  No one is here.  I called Shirl and it seems that she caught a bad cold and went home early last week.  She’s promised she’ll come in tomorrow night.

I’ll be waiting anxiously to find out what the Veteran’s Administration lawyer told you today.  I miss you so very much but I won’t go into that now or I’ll get homesick.

All my love,

June

(Tomorrow – Don't stay in the city alone!)

© 2011 Lee Price