February 14, 1941

Dear Rosie Lockhart,


I’m writing to you because I have no one else to talk to and I thought you might understand. I remember the first day of grade school you were sitting behind me in your checkered dress with your neat blond hair to your chin. We were learning how to draw circles that day and I was struggling. I looked over my shoulder and I saw your perfect circle. I knew it was perfect just like you. Mine was messy and barely met at the point it was supposed to close. I have been meaning to talk to you since, but I’ve been too afraid.

We are now in the sixth grade and it is Valentines Day. I was hoping I’d have the courage to ask you to be my valentine, but I didn’t have enough strength, so I wrote this letter to you instead. Today at school, you looked just as perfect and pretty as usual. You wore that light pink dress and you had the pretty bow in your now long hair. When you smiled, your big blue eyes would light up the room. You are always well mannered and look clean like my Mama told me I should be. I’m sure you come from a good family Rosie, with a Mama and Papa who really care about you. I’m sure your family is just like you, perfect. I’m sure it ain’t like mine. I’m sure you have a Papa in your house who takes good care of you.

You ever heard of a strike, Rosie? Well, if you haven’t it is where a large group of people that work in the mills or factories come together and stop working. They make signs and hold them up on sticks until the bosses pay them more money. Rosie, you know what they do with people that organize them strikes? No? They put them in the jail and keep them there. That’s what happened to my Papa. He got locked up in 1930 when I was just one year old. Just a baby, I ain’t never got to see my Papa. Ever since I was a young boy my Mama was always telling me I gotta be perfect. “If you are perfect,” she says while pointing her finger, “You will make something of yourself, boy. You will live a good life and be successful. Make a good living.” My Mama don’t understand that it is hard to be perfect. I mean you Rosie, you make being perfect look so easy.

I try every day to do the best I can. Go to school, do my homework, clean up around the house. Try not to cause too much trouble. Sometimes I just lose it though. I start thinking what if I can never be perfect and can never get out of this darn small town here in North Carolina. What if I’m like everyone else, Rosie? What if I get stuck here like everyone else? I try and dream that I get out of here, but they all quickly turn into nightmares that one day I’m gonna get locked up just like my Papa is.

Sometimes at night before I go to sleep, I listen to the song I’ll Get By. It’s a real good song Rosie? You know that song? By Harry James? I put it on the old record player that was my Papa’s. I imagine my Mama and Papa dancing happily to the song. I imagine them having a perfect life together. Then I imagine us dancing. You and me, Rosie. Dancing perfectly in time to the swing of the music. We dance until the song is over and then I stop dreaming. I come back into the world. I think of you one last time and crawl into bed. I think of you. It makes me sad sometimes, Rosie. You ever think of someone then become sad? Well I do. I think of you, my Papa, and then I think of me. I think of me and this small town and hope one day I’ll get out.

I finally got it Rosie.

?

Love,
Wesley Hartley





March 1, 1941

Dear Rosie Lockhart,


Today was a good day. It was different then most days, Rosie. Normally we don’t do nothing special at school. Today we went on a field trip to the farm across the street from the school house. I know you know that is what we did, because you were there, but I had such a fun time I wanna tell you about it. We all got to school early in the morning around 7. The sun was shinning bright outside even though the air was a little cold. I saw you talking to all your friends. You and Charlotte Clark were laughing so hard. I’m not sure what you were laughing about, but I’d like to know someday. In that one moment, you looked like the happiest girl I ever seen. It would be good to laugh with you Rosie.

When the teacher came into the schoolhouse we all said good morning and he told us to go grab our coats because we were going across the street to the farm. I saw you smile right away. You jumped up and ran over and put your long brown button down coat on. We walked single file across the street and when we got there, there was a man waiting for us. He had washed out blue overalls on. He looked like a nice man, one who really cared for all of his animals.

The nice man showed us all around the farm. We saw the horses, cows, the chickens, and the pigs. The pigs were my favorite, Rosie. Did you see the big fat one? He looked lazy and old. I hope I don’t end up like a pig though. Messy, lazy, and old. I bet that’s how my Mama thinks I will end up. She sometimes tells me, “Wesley, you better do something, boy. Don’t be lazy and messy now, like a big old pig.” I know I won’t end up like that. If I work hard I will go to college someday. Well, Rosie it’s getting late and I still have to do my multiplication tables. But today was a good day.

Love,
Wesley Hartley


March 13, 1941

Dear Rosie Lockhart,


I’m not sure what happened today I just broke down in the middle of class. I’m not supposed to cry in front of people my Mama tells me that all the time, but I couldn’t hold it in me any longer. The poem the teacher read in class made me think of my Papa and how he hasn’t had the chance to live. I wonder if my Papa would rather be dead than staying in that jail not doing anything with his life. Is he already dead? Locked up there, staring at the wall. I don’t think my Papa did anything bad. Did he? All he was trying to do was ask for a better pay, so he could live. Them factory owners they’re stubborn you know. They only ever do things for themselves. I guess that is how the rich are. Rosie, I never want to be rich. I just want to live a good life and I wanna let as many other people live good lives too. Rosie, I hope you have a good life. I know you will. You will make it in the real world. You are smart, Rosie. You are always the first one to raise them hand in class. When the teacher calls on me I never know what to say, but not you, Rosie. You always know what to say. I am trying to remember the poem Mr. Hastings read to us today. I remember him saying it was called For the Fallen and he was telling us this poem to honor the many men that have gone to fight in the war.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncountered:
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
For The Fallen
By Laurence Binyon


I know that my Papa never went to war, but that doesn’t mean he has never fought. I think my Papa organizing that strike was as brave as any to go to war. Except maybe he was wrong, for fighting against his own country, but no matter what he was strong. I believe my Papa is one of the fallen and people should honor how brave he was. When I heard the last line that is when I started to cry. I know that I will always remember my Papa, even though I never really knew him.

As soon as I got home I climbed up the squeaky stairs and went into my room. I fell back onto my bed and just lied there silently, but I kept thinking of my Papa. I got up and walked over to his old record player. I played I Get By. I listened the first time. Then the second time. I played it a third time and started to hum along. I took my jacket off and put it on the bed. I swung myself around. I was dancing. I was dancing to the beat. I was humming the melody. I thought of you and my Papa. I thought of school and the poem. I thought of the war. I thought of jail. I thought of my Mama. I thought of being perfect. I thought of you. I thought of me. Then I cried myself to sleep.

Love,
Wesley Hartley.


April 2, 1941

Dear Rosie Lockhart,


I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been busy with school work and I’ve been helping my Mama. The reason I didn’t write you has nothing to do with me feeling better, cause I don’t, Rosie. But you know when someone else you love looks sadder than yourself it’s best to stop worrying about yourself and care about them for a while. That’s what I had to do with my Mama. I know my Mama is harsh on me, Rosie. I do still love her though, I promise I do. Without my Mama, I probably would have given up already, Rosie. I can’t do that to her though. I love her too much. Even times when I want to hate her, I still do love her.

My Mama has been ill. We can’t afford the doctor, but she was coughing nonstop. She would cough all day and night. She had a fever and she would tell me how much her head hurt her. I let her sleep and if she wanted something I got it for her. I just wanted her to get better. She is doing better now, Rosie. She can walk around the house again and her fever is gone. I keep telling her to rest, but she says she needs to take care of her garden. My Mama grows many different types of flowers in her garden. To get us the money we need to buy ourselves food, she sells some of her flowers. Her flowers are real pretty, just like you. I hope some day I can give you flowers. I hope my Mama gets better soon. I just heard her cough, Rosie. When she does, it scares me a little. I just want her to get better.

Love,
Wesley Hartley


April 12, 1941

Dear Rosie Lockhart,


You weren’t at school today, Rosie. I hope you are okay. I hope you aren’t sick like my Mama. I hope you are well, Rosie. You didn’t miss much at school today. Mr. Hastings told us about the war. He said that the people fighting in the war on our side are brave and good men. He said it would take a lot of courage to be shipped off somewhere new, where all you did there is fight. He said that we should honor the soldiers. Then he made us be silent for five minutes.

During those five minutes, I started thinking. When it is silent I always start to think. My thoughts our normal thoughts at first, but then they all get mixed together. I start to feel cold and then really warm over and over again and I can’t tell when it will stop. I thought of the war. I didn’t really understand what the war was all about. But I knew it had to do with two sides fighting for what they thought was right. I know that one side is evil. I hear people talk about people being evil and how we are trying to stop the bad guys. But no one really talks to us about the war, except for telling us to honor our soldiers. Rosie, part of me wants to know what is going on, but I know it will just give me more nightmares. I think of the war some more though, it never leaves my mind. I think about all the people risking their lives to stop the evil guys because they know that what they are doing is wrong and if they stop them things will be right again. I see images of my Papa in jail in my mind. I try not to think of him because I know it will just make me more upset, but I can’t help it, Rosie. I think of how he fought the evil guys because he knew they were wrong. But the evil guys were stronger than my Papa. I hope the evil guys in the war aren’t stronger. I hope the world can be right again. Don’t you Rosie?

Love,
Wesley Hartley


April 15, 1941

Dear Rosie Lockhart,



I’m getting worried and I can’t think straight, Rosie. My mom is getting sick again and it’s starting to make me feel sick too. You haven’t been in school, Rosie for the last week. I hope you are okay? I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know what is wrong with me and why everything bad happens to the people I care about. Why everything makes me sad. I just don’t know why, Rosie. I am happy for one day and then the next something bad happens again. Like I said in my last letter, I hope things turn right again.

I’ve been going home after school and just sitting in my room staring at the wall. Then an old picture of my father. Then I look in the mirror and see myself and see how angry I look, but I’m not angry, Rosie. I’m just confused. Everything is confusing. Why people only stay in our lives for a minute and then they are gone? And the fact we think we know people and then they do something we never expected. And the people we think are really special end up not caring about us at all. I hope you notice me, Rosie. I hope you think of me sometimes, Rosie. Maybe on your way to school? Maybe on your way home? Maybe before you go to sleep? I know it sounds selfish, but I hope you have thought about me at least once or twice.

I stared at the wall one more time before I cried myself to sleep for the second time this week. I felt like I was locked up just like my father. I felt like I was stuck. Stuck with so many things I didn’t want to think about again. I was scared that I would never get out again, except for when I did when I was dreaming.

Love,
Wesley Hartley


April 16, 1941

Dear Rosie Lockhart,


I had a dream last night. It was a good dream. It took place awhile from now. Not sure when, but we were both happy and looked older. We were dressed up and were dancing. We were dancing to I’ll Get By. We rocked back and forth gently. Then you put your head on my shoulder and we rocked some more. At the end of the song you looked up at me. We starred at each other for a while. Then you kissed me.

I know my dream will never come true, but I really like you Rosie. I hope you don’t think I am a creep. I just hope you think that I needed to talk to someone and thought you might care. Please, don’t think anything more than that. I wanted to give you these. I hope you read them. Don’t worry, you don’t have to write back. I just hope you at least read them. I hope you read them and know that someone cares about you as well. I feel brave, Rosie. Depending on how things are going. I might keep writing letters. Pretending you are listening and that you are here.

Love
Wesley Hartley


April 17, 1941

Dear Rosie Lockhart,


I walked over to your house that afternoon. A block down from mine across the street from the country store. I folded up all of my letters and tied them with a pink ribbon. I wrote your name on the front. I put them on the front porch. I hope you see them, Rosie. I hope you do. Oh, someone is knocking at the door. I will be right back, Rosie. Two seconds.

It was you standing at the door. Wearing the pink dress I loved so much. You had your blond hair in a long braid down your back. We looked at each other for a while. Then just like that you kissed me. It felt good, Rosie. But when you pulled away I knew you had bad news. You started to cry. I always hope you would never cry. I just want you to be happy. I took your hand and sat you down on the porch. We sat there. Silently. Then you took out of your pocket a folded up piece of paper and handed it to me. You kissed my cheek and then ran away. You just ran and ran and ran. I’ve never seen someone run so fast. I hope you weren’t running from me, Rosie. I hope you were running to someone better. I hope you were running to get rid of being sad. I hope you were running to somewhere better. I wanted to run after you, but I didn’t think it was right. The way you ran made it seem like you just wanted to escape.

I looked down at the folded up piece of paper. I wanted to open it. I couldn’t though. I thought I should wait until I really needed something to cheer me up.

Love,
Wesley Hartley


April 18, 1941


I woke up early this morning. I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to read Rosie’s letter. I walked over to my desk and sat down. I unfolded the piece of paper. It was written in pencil and her handwriting was very neat. The letter read:

April 16, 1941

Dear Wesley,


I wish you had talked to me sooner. I really do! I knew you had a crush on me. I caught you staring once or twice. You are mysterious, Wesley. I hope you know that I don’t think you are creepy for liking me. I think from now on though, you shouldn’t be afraid to tell someone how you feel about them, especially if you trust them.


I want to be honest with you though. My life isn’t perfect. In fact not one bit of it is perfect. I hope you still like me even though I am not what you imagined me to be. I understand, I do the same thing sometimes. Everyone does. We picture people’s lives and judge them when we barely know them. Either in a good way or a bad way. When we need someone to look up to we pick someone we think we love and imagine them to be perfect. I want you to know, Wesley, that my life is very similar to yours. I haven’t seen my father in three years. He is fighting in the war, was fighting. I got the news yesterday. I loved my father, Wesley and now he is gone. Everyone I love is gone. I don’t understand how everything all at once can just disappear. But it did. My Mom is so heartbroken she is now in the hospital. The doctor said she will be okay eventually. But for now I have no one to take care of me, so I’m being shipped off to New York City tomorrow morning to live with my Aunt and Uncle, who I have never even met. I didn’t know they even existed. I know I will come back and visit this town, to see my Mother and maybe I can see you, Wesley. I don’t want you to think of me too much. I think you will be happier if you got to know more people at school. Charlotte is nice and I know she thinks you are cute. Write to me once every year at most. I know that you are going to live a good life, Wesley. Don’t get hung up on being perfect. No one is. Not me. Not you. If everyone was perfect the world would be boring.

You know, I feel like that is what they were fighting for in the war. The evil guys want the world to be their way of perfect, but the good guys just want the world to be right. Wesley, make the world right someday and I will too. Be brave Wesley. I know everything is gonna be okay for both of us. Just promise me, you will try to be happy and I will be happy too.

Love,
Rosie Lockhart

And with that I folded the letter back up and put it in my drawer, where I knew I was going to put this one next to it. It’s hard to find out that the one thing you believe in is a lie. But I feel like I knew Rosie, really wasn’t perfect and that is why I liked her all along. I knew she was different, so different that to me she was perfect.

I want to be able to promise Rosie that I will be happy from now on. But I just don’t know what will happen later today or tomorrow or the next. I don’t know if something will change my life, just like what happened to Rosie. I don’t know if it will be a happy change or a sad change. But I can promise that I won’t worry and I will be brave. I’m gonna focus on being happy in the moment, instead of in the future.

I walked over to my Papa’s old record player. I put on my favorite record. I played I Get By. I listened the first time. Then the second time. I played it a third time and started to hum along. I took my jacket off the bed and put it on. I swung myself around. I was dancing. I was dancing to the beat. I was humming to the melody. I thought of you. I thought of my Mama and Papa. I thought of school. I thought of me. I thought of you. I thought of today. Then I smiled and walked out my door.

Love,
Wesley Hartley