Page 68 of Echoes of a Silent Song
Our delay was because the postman came around four every day, and we had two mailboxes to check.We went to Victor’s house first because it was closest to school.Sometimes, since his father was between jobs again, Victor borrowed the car and drove me home.
We walked hand in hand, our shoes in rhythmic counterpoint, the winter sun casting shadows of branches on the sidewalk.Holding hands was such a simple thing, but it brought so much joy.It meant we were a couple.Anus.We were in this together.At this point, holding Victor’s hand felt like a comfortable habit.Like something we’d do for the rest of our lives.
Except this must’ve been one of Victor’s distant days.His moods had become less and less predictable the last few weeks.Sometimes he was the sweetest guy in the world.The bouquet of roses he gave me for Valentine’s Day was stunning.And he always told me I was beautiful on days when I needed to hear it most.
But other times he seemed distracted, as though his mind was on the moon.I could be feeling my most beautiful, and he seemed to not even see me.And sometimes he could be a little acidic.Last Wednesday, Iwore a new skirt that made me feel like a million bucks.I couldn’t wait to see his reaction, but instead of telling me I was gorgeous, he’d just eyed me over the rims of his glasses and said, “Iris, don’t you think that skirt is a bit short?”
I’d laughed it off.“Victor!You sound like my father.”
“I mean it,” he’d replied.“I don’t want other guys ogling my girl.”
Part of me was thrilled he called me his girl.But another part of me was embarrassed.Later at home, I hung the skirt in the back of my closet.I was pretty sure I’d never wear it again.
Victor was just stressed.I had to keep reminding myself of that.Every day that passed brought us one day closer to getting the letters that would decide our future.
Inspiration struck.Maybe if I made him laugh, he’d relax a little bit.
“Remember today in choir when Johnny Lenn got the restroom pass stuck on top of the rafters in the cafeteria?”I giggled just thinking about it.Mr.Gilbert’s restroom pass was a broken, old choir folder, and Johnny had a habit of tossing things to himself while he walked.He’d thrown the folder so high it got stuck, and we’d all gone out to have a look.
“We lost six minutes of rehearsal time,” Victor pointed out.“That part wasn’t so amusing.”
My cheeks burned, and I stopped giggling.Sometimes I felt like such a child compared to him.He was more than a year and a half older, so that was part of it.But sometimes I couldn’t shake the feeling that I annoyed him.That my laughter irritated him.Some days it even seemed as though he couldn’t stand me.
That just must be part of being in a relationship with someone.You’re constantly thinking of the other person.You want to please them, you want them to love you, so you second-guess everything you do.But if that’s the case, then why do love songs only focus on the part that feels amazing?
We stopped on the sidewalk in front of Victor’s mailbox.The postman was halfway down the block, so the day’s mail had already come.
Victor glanced at me with a nervous smile and opened the box.My heart pounded as he pulled out a handful of envelopes and sorted throughthem.One or two were bills—I saw the big red OVERDUE stamp—but then ...could it be ...
“It’s here.”Victor held up an envelope with Whitehall’s crimson logo.
I smiled, and my heartbeat accelerated.It’s here.This is it.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”He was taking forever.I couldn’t stand the suspense.
His eyes turned cold.“I need a minute, Iris.”
“Of course.I’m sorry.Wait until you’re ready.”
He stared at the envelope as though willing it to contain the news he needed to hear.He blew out a breath that puffed up in the chilly air around us.Then he tore the envelope open.
He turned away from me, and I tried to peek over his shoulder, but his height meant I couldn’t.So I gave up and just prayed.Please let it be good news.Please let him have gotten in.Please don’t make him go to Vietnam.Please, please, please ...
“I got in.”
He spoke so softly I could barely hear him.“What did you say?”
He turned to me, all smiles, and showed me the letter.“I got in, Iris!I got in!”
I took the letter from his hand and read it out loud.“‘Dear Mr.Nelson, I am delighted to inform you that our Committee on Admissions has accepted you to the class of 1974 as a member of our Music Theory and Composition Program.Please accept my personal congratulations on your outstanding achievement ...’”Happy tears blurred my eyes, and I couldn’t read any more, so I just beamed up at Victor and handed the letter back.“You got in!”
“I got in.”The paper shook in his hand.“Oh, Iris, I can’t tell you how relieved I am.How thrilled.There’s just ...there aren’t words for it.I don’t have to worry about ’Nam anymore.I don’t have to worry about my parents anymore.I get to start over.I get to learn from ...”He trailed off and squeezed his eyes shut.Twin tears dove down his cheeks.
“Victor.”Moved at his outpouring of emotion, I pulled him close and just held him.He wasn’t the only one crying.
“I’m so happy, Iris.”His voice was ragged.“I’m just so happy.”
And that was it.That was all he said.
