September 9, 1975
Dear Millie,
Remember me? Goodness, what were we, 14 and 15, the last
time we saw one another? Mother told me
you came by when your family visited New Castle, but I was with Dad in Georgia that
summer.
Big news! I graduated from Franklin Law
School of Capital
University in June and just passed my Boards.
I am now an attorney!
Seems
like such a long time ago that we were friends. I remember our talks and all those tuna fish
sandwiches on our picnics! And I think
about how you told me so often to let go of my anger. Not sure it is totally gone, but at least now
I hope to direct it in a positive way. I’ll
be moving to Alabama to join the Southern Poverty Law Center in Montgomery. It’s an organization that began in 1971 to
fight discrimination.
No wife yet, or on the horizon—just
too busy studying the last few years to get serious.
I don’t know if you’ve heard
anything about our family. My father
died as a result of a beating during a civil rights march in Alabama in June 1964. He was a man I admired. It nearly killed my mother—she was never the same
after that. Two years ago my
grandfather—remember Moz?—had an accident with his garbage truck. He lived for five days, but his injuries were
really bad—broken back and punctured lungs.
Six months ago Momma was diagnosed
with cancer. She lived to see me
graduate. Nobody left but me.
I would love to hear from you. You’re probably a wife and mother by now—or
did you throw all that away and go off and become a writer?
I want you to know that during some
of the tough times, the memories of our talks kept my head aimed in the right
direction.
Always your friend,
Robbie
Millie
folded the letter and realized her hands were shaking. Her mind went back to her adolescent years.
To Be Continued...
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