Vox Meditantis

428 West Second Street, Reno, Nevada

November 15th, 1955

My Dearest Joseph,

Well, honey, would you look at that! I’ve been sitting here with your last letter spread out on my vanity table like it’s some kind of treasure map, and I swear I’ve read it so many times the ink’s probably going to wear right off the page. You always did have a way with words that could make a girl’s heart skip around like a pinball in one of our machines downstairs.

I’ve been thinking an awful lot lately about how different our worlds are, and isn’t that just the cat’s pyjamas? Here I am, surrounded by the clink and clatter of silver dollars and the whoosh of cards being shuffled, whilst you’re navigating those grand boulevards of our nation’s capital with all that important history practically breathing down your neck. When you wrote about that new East Capitol Street Bridge opening up – mercy me, what a to-do that must have been! I can just picture you in your crisp uniform, probably thinking about all the engineering that went into spanning that river whilst everyone else was just excited about the ribbon-cutting ceremony. That’s my Joseph, always seeing the poetry in the practical things.

And don’t think I didn’t catch that little mention about the transit strike this summer! Seven weeks without proper streetcars? Darling, I bet you were busier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. All those poor souls needing to get to work, and there you were, steady as Gibraltar, keeping the wheels turning. It makes this casino girl’s heart positively flutter to think of you being such a hero to all those folks, even if you’re too modest to see it that way yourself.

You know what gets me all excited, sugar? Reading about how your city’s changing right before your very eyes. That business with the Barnard School integration – now that’s something that gives a person hope, doesn’t it? Makes me think about all the brave little ones walking into that classroom together, probably scared as rabbits but doing it anyway. Reminds me of us, in a funny way. Here we are, two people from completely different worlds, writing letters across this enormous country like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe love’s a lot like integration – it takes courage, but once you take that first step, you realise how silly all those barriers seemed in the first place.

I’ve got to tell you something that’ll probably make you laugh until your sides ache. Remember how you mentioned that old Apollo Theater getting torn down? Well, it got me thinking about all the pictures and memories stored up in places, and I marched myself right down to the photography studio here in town and had my portrait taken! I’m wearing my best blue dress – the one with the little pearl buttons you said you’d like to see someday – and I’m sending it along with this letter. Now don’t go getting all embarrassed on me, Joseph Bennett, but I wanted you to have something to look at when you’re reading about cherry blossoms and morning light and making this Nevada girl go all dreamy.

Speaking of dreamy, I’ve been having the most wonderful daydreams about seeing your Washington. I picture myself on one of your buses (with you driving, naturally), watching all those important government folks hurrying about their business, maybe catching a glimpse of the Capitol dome sparkling in the sunshine. Do you think they’d let a casino girl from Nevada take a peek at the Supreme Court? I’d love to see where all those momentous decisions get made. You’ve got me so curious about your world, darling – all those newspapers you read, those library books you mentioned. I’ve actually started asking some of our more well-travelled customers about the East Coast, and let me tell you, their stories just make me more eager than ever to see it all for myself.

But here’s what really gets my heart racing like a thoroughbred: imagining what it would be like to walk down those tree-lined streets with you, your arm linked through mine, maybe stopping for coffee at one of those little cafés you’ve described. I keep thinking about how your gentle way of seeing the world would help me notice things I’d probably rush right past. You’d probably know the names of all the trees and the history of every building, wouldn’t you? And I’d drag you to dance at the first jazz club we found, because life’s too short not to celebrate the good things when they come along.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say, but I think it does more than that – it makes everything sharper, more precious. Every word you write feels like a gift, Joseph. Every story you share about your passengers, every observation about the changing seasons, every gentle thought you send across these miles feels like you’re building a bridge between us, stronger than any they could construct over the Anacostia River.

With all my love and a thousand kisses,

Your Elizabeth

P.S. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you still owe me a description of what snow looks like falling on the monuments. A girl from the desert has got to know these things!

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