"We conducted our courtship by letters," the needles clicked in her hand, "And were married by radio. He was a radio-man, and he liked that. Wanted to be a science fiction writer when he came back from the war. Tell stories of how boys and girls would fall in love on rockets to different parents. Except all of his science romances always had a sad ending - the time dilation was wrong, so when they met up the boy had grown to an old man, or the girl fell in love with him only to find all the messages had been sent a hundred years ago. Well, we had our own troubles, but we worked them out."
The needles paused for a moment, and she worked with her nails to undo a part of the work. "You'll see. There are parts of the letters I never showed to anyone - I'd die if my mother ever saw them. Or the things he sent - his instructions were quite plain. Like out of a textbook. But don't you worry," she laid one hand on her swollen belly, "when you're old enough, you can read all the letters your father wrote to you too."
Post a Comment