Anna and Frank

Dear unknown hero,
I am writing without knowing who you are, but knowing that you are out there fighting for us all. I don't know war, but I know how it feels to be alone, to be afraid without anyone to turn to for help.

My name is Anna, I live in a small village in the south. The war has not reached us yet. The fields are still green, the sun shines and the birds sing. The lilacs are blooming and the trees are full of fruits.

I wish I could show you how beautiful it is here. My words cannot bring you the peace and joy I feel.

I feel secure knowing that you are out there protecting us all. Never forget that you are a hero and you are not alone. We are all there with you in spirit.

Anna

Anna,

I am Frank. I am at the Western front. I am with the 8th Infantry Division.

It was good to receive your letter. Made me want to be there. Nice, the lilacs.

Please write again.

-F

Dear Frank,

It warms my heart that you liked the lilacs. Their scent so sweet and strong fills the air around my house. I wish you could smell them too.

Today I baked a pie with the first apples of the season. It came out well, soft on the inside and crunchy on the outside. I ate it on the terrace, as the sun went down.

I thought of you. How your world looks like now. Maybe you would have liked my pie.

I hope it is ok to write to you like this. I hope you don't mind.

Anna

Anna,

My world has no color. The sky is cement and the ground is mud. Your letter painted it in colors I had forgotten.

Today I had to repair a truck. Transmission problems. My hands are still dirty for it and with little cuts. Not much water around here to clean them.

Your pie sounds good. I would have liked it. I like apples.

Please keep writing.

-F

Dear Frank,

Today I was in the garden. The sun was warm on my back, but a cool breeze made the leaves dance and my skin tingle.

I had a hard time pulling the weeds. Maybe you would have helped me? I could have used your strong hands and hearing your voice would have made the task go faster.

The evening was colder, so I tucked myself in a blanket and sat on the terrace.

I don't know if I should tell you these small things. I hope you don't mind.

Anna

Anna,

A boy died today. He was 19 and a good boy. A sniper got him. We are all sad and angry and tired.  Your letter made me feel better.

My hands are strong. I would have pulled the weeds for you.

-F

Dearest Frank,

I am sorry about the boy. The world is so cruel. I am happy that my letter helped you feel better, even if just a little.

Perhaps I should not say this, as we have never met, but yesterday night I dreamed of you. We were sitting on my terrace as the sun went down. We were not talking, just enjoying the silence, the breeze and the smell of lilacs.

It is not right that you don't know what I look like. I am sending you a picture of me.

Maybe you won't write to me again once you see it, but I hope you do.

Yours,
Anna

Anna,

You are beautiful. I didn't expect that. I am glad you sent me the picture. I keep it in my pocket and look at it when I can.

I don't have a picture to send you. My comrade has drawn a sketch of me. I am sending it to you. It is not as good as your picture, but it is me.

Please keep writing. Your letters give me strength.
-F

Dearest Frank,

You look handsome in the sketch. It arrived all crumpled up but I ironed it and made it flat again. I keep it in a frame on my nightstand.

At night, the wind brings the smell of lilacs through the window. I look at you and imagine you are here with me.

Is it wrong to think of you like this? I don't know. It feels right, safe and warm. I feel like I know you, even if we have never met.

Yours,
Anna

Anna,

You made me remember the smell of lilacs. I had forgotten it. I wish I could smell them with you.

-F

Dearest Frank,

I will send you a pressed lilac flower. Maybe a little smell will reach you through the paper.

I think about your hands. How strong they must be. How rough they must feel on my skin. I wonder if you would like to hold me. I wonder if you would like to kiss me.

Oh gosh. I am sorry. I should not write this. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

Yours,
Anna

Dear Frank,
It has been a while since you last wrote to me. Did I say something wrong? Was I too forward?

I am sorry if I did. I hope you are ok.

Anna

Anna,

Delivery is slow here. I just received your last two letters. I thought you had stopped writing to me. My heart skipped a beat when I saw your name on the envelope.

I always look forward to your letters. Please keep writing.

-F

Dearest Frank,

I felt so lonely without your letters. I am so happy to hear from you again.

You are the only person that can really see me. You make me feel wanted and happy. I feel like I can tell you anything.

I think about you way too much. I wonder if you think about me too. I wonder if you would like to meet me one day.

I promise to keep writing. I will write to you until you tell me to stop.

Yours,
Anna

Anna,
I think about you too. I wonder what it would be like to meet you. I wonder if you would like me.

I don't speak too much but I am a good listener and my feelings are deep.

Perhaps one day we will meet. I would like that.

-F

Dearest Frank,

Today the sun was shining and the sky was blue. I was cooking in the kitchen and I felt like dancing. I imagined you were there with me, holding me in your arms and spinning me around.

I felt your strong hands on my waist, your breath on my neck. I felt so happy and alive.

Please think of me like this. I am here for you.

Yours,
Anna

Anna,

Your letter made me smile. It sent away the dust and the mud. I want to hold you and dance with you.

-F

Dearest Frank,

The nights are getting colder. I read your letters in bed and they warm me up. They make me feel all soft and fuzzy inside.

What is this feeling? Am I falling in love with you? I think I am. I think I love you.

Yours always,
Anna

Anna,

I love you too. I think about you all the time.

I have good news. I will be home in a few weeks. I will come and find you. Wait for me.

-F

The old woman mutters to herself in the kitchen. Her voice high and thin, like a girl.

“Frank, don’t come home. You can’t come home.”

There is garbage all around her feet. The floor is sticky with old food and spilled drinks. There is the carcass of a rat in the corner, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

“Don’t find me. Don’t find me.”

She sits down on the chair in front of the small table. She picks up the pen and starts writing on a piece of paper.

“Dear Frank …”

She finishes the letter, seals it in an envelope and puts it on the side of the table. She looks at it for a moment then stands up and goes back to her cooking.

There is a strong bang from the other room. The wind has opened a window and it slams against the wall: bang … bang … bang.

The old woman straightens her back and grows taller. She starts talking to herself again, but her voice is deeper now, more guttural.

“Anna, why do you say …”

She moves around in the kitchen retracing her steps. She moves fast with a lot of energy. She doesn’t look old anymore. She doesn’t look like a girl now.

Then she stops and sits on the other side of the table. There are pen and paper on that side too. She picks up the pen and starts writing.

“Anna, why I should not come home? …”

She writes for a long time, the hand uncertain, shaking a little. She finishes the letter, seals it in an envelope and puts it on that side of the table.

There is a mountain of envelopes on the table, on both sides. Some are dirty with old food, the newest ones are clean and white.

The old woman stands up and goes back to her cooking. The window in the other room still bangs against the wall: bang … bang … bang.