Under Lock and Key

5: Life and Letters Part One

Chapter Five: Life and Letters

Kelly Rossi, May 1st, 1942

I walked home from school, in a daze. My left eye was swelling. I could feel it. If I touched it, it stung like hell.

Bastards.

At least I gave as good as I got. I wish I'd broken a few bones, but maybe next time.

Like every day since he'd left, I went to our spot at the park. I sat down in the dirt, my back to the same tree. I'd climbed it just a week ago, and carved our names together on one of the branches. No one else would see it, but I knew it was there. After some thought, I also used my pocket knife to dig out two more names.

Joseph and Yuji.

It felt right. Seeing Ray and my name. And our fathers' names. Together.

Today, I tried to bring back that feeling, when Ray and I sat here a month ago, right before he left me. How he smelled. A little sweaty, like when we played ball in the sun. But good. He smelled good. Like my Ray. I tried to remember the thud of his heartbeat under my cheek. How it felt to be safe and cared for and loved more than anyone or anything in the world.

But it got dark eventually, and I knew I had to get home.

We didn't live in the same building. We couldn't afford it, once Uncle Yuji and Aunt Claire, Evie and Lilly, and my Ray left. Were put into jail. Not left. Assholes put them in jail.

My mom and I had to move back in with her parents. I slept on the floor of the kitchen, a little mattress out of the way, while my mom slept with one of her millions of sisters. My uncles all were married and lived in different spots in the city, but there was no shortage of Murphy daughters to be found. Grandpa told me one night last week that he had twelve children living and two gone up to Heaven.

I hated living there. Hated it. I looked like them, black hair, green eyes. But I didn't want to be like them, not Irish or Italian like my father and his family. In my heart, I'm Japanese.

I knew Ray would say that was stupid. Because he never really thought of himself that way. Whenever an idiot on the street said some shit to him, asking him if he was a Chink or a Jap, he'd shout back he was a Californian.

Ray.

I wonder if he remembered that today was my birthday.

When I stepped through the front door, wiping the heels of my shoes clean, hoping dinner of some kind was ready, my mom was there, beaming, in the doorway. Her short black hair slicked back and her mouth painted bright red, a shimmering black dress shorter than any most women wore and dark stockings. Ready for work.

"Kelly, sweetie. I have the best birthday present for you." She held something behind her back. I could hear her one of her sisters in the kitchen, Aunt Margret most likely, and smelled baked fish and potatoes.

My mom completely got my attention when she pulled out an envelope. And dangled it in front of me, grinning.

I grabbed it and was gone, racing back out of the door.

"Wait!!! Kelly!!!! What happened to your face!!!??? Come back!!!"

I ran, as fast as I could. Down the street, to an alley behind the apartment building. Holding the envelope to my chest, as I started to blubber like...like....well...like a baby.

I was his Baby. My Ray. I was his Baby forever.

I didn't think I could even read it. I was crying too hard. It was only two weeks ago, but it was the longest two weeks of my life. Before that, we'd never been apart. Not even overnight. We saw each other every single day. Slept together every single night, for my entire eleven years of life.