3.28

Choice
I am a simple man. I have always lived a simple life. Things are pat, you know. Just so. I didn't want not one thing more. Content.
You mixed me up, of course. I saw that coming. What I didn't see was how much fun you'd be.
I'm a simple man. I didn't expect no extravagant love.
[I found this in the rolling desk and snitched it when he wasn't looking]

Dear Choice.
Your letter to me was in the mailbox with the bills and the monthly catalog but I could see it through the pile and through the tin and through the wall and through the field over near the pump where i was working and I run there so fast that mailman hadn't hardly closed the thing afore I had my hand on it. You know, I'm excited. I am. I'm excited by you and dad blame it if that don't feel more like dipping your toes in spring water then I don't know.
I kept that picture you sent me. Tucked it back of the bible so you'd fall out when I was having devotions and I'd remember to pray for you. I still remember you without the picture, but it's nice to see your face.
Here's the truth about us that you haven't known for a while now but I've been talking to your folks for a while. You remember last week after church when your father stopped me in the pew and let me have a ripping - well that's what it was about. I have found that they won't consider me unless I have a powerfully good reason for them to do so, and they don't want any no-account farm hand for their daughter. They do love you so.
I'm going back to the field now. I've got to prepare it so's McHartney won't have reason to bile at me.
Of course,
Roger K Beck
March 1937

Dear Choice.
You have asked why I type my letters. Well it is simple. I have no handwriting. Remember that scar on my hand, between the thumb and my digits well that makes it mighty sore to be holding a pen. My teacher always tried to make me write anyway and never said nothing good on my penmanship. I would ruther you didn't see it, so I'll just borrow McHartney's wife's typing machine and I can manage on that.
Of course,
Roger K Beck
June 1937

Dear Choice.
You have seen my leg and how I can't work no more. I am tapping this out with my left hand, even, because of the damage but the doctor says that's alright. The arm will be much better inside of a month. My uncle has written from Rushsylvania. I might have a future there. Don't forget me, please. I still pray for you.
Of course,
Roger K Beck
June 1937

Dear Choice.
I have a job in Rushsylvania in the store. I'm not the man I was but I hope you still think of me. I know it's been a powerful long time since the last we saw of each other
     of course you know the time because of what you said to me
I remember because when you leaned in, the shade played tricks with your face and you looked awful pretty when you said it. You blushed right down to your roots and danced off between them cottonwoods up on the north end of your property. And I said Choice Titus I Intend to Make Good. That swallerd you up, and no mistake. You hid behind that camera of yours and didn't come out.
This ten dollars is for a new dress for your Mother and a picture show for your Father and a train ticket for you. I want to see you awful bad. Them photos don't cut it.
Of course,
Roger K Beck
April 1938

Dear Choice.
You know I hate to put this on you, but I can't decide for you. I never meant to come between you and yours. I never meant to pull you away. I always pictured you and I and the Titus clan thick as thieves, but that can't be how it's gonna be. I'll ask you one last time:
Ohio and me
Pennsylvania
It's your decision and I prayed you make a good one. I knowed what I would pick but I ain't you.
Choice Titus, I pick you.
Of course,
Roger K Beck
September 1938

Dearest Choice.
I am none too good with words so I will be brief.
Today I am more than I was yesterday. I can't explain that none. But I needed you to know. Don't forget this date, Choice Beck. It's today I found a life.
April 1939

[This is my seven hundredth post. Daily blog + three and a half years = two years' worth of posts]