blazer. I was ready to perform all the nothing-talk that must happen on first dates, but you got
straight to it. Asking how I got to NYC, because itwas obvious to you I wasn’t from around here
when I stumbled into the bar. The grilled sandwichesyou bought for us distracted me from being
sheepish. I told you what I did for a living - “Aneditor,” you said. “You look like the kind of
person who should be writing.” I asked you what youdid when you weren’t at Syd’s (the answer
was dancing at other bars). You made me laugh andsomehow, I made you laugh. Eventually, the
sunset turned the clouds pink, and you leaned in tokiss me but I stopped you. Told you I’d never
done this before. You smiled and said, “I know.” Andyou kissed me. I think something in us
knew each other long before we met.
The release that I felt kissing you in Central Park,in public and proud, came close to the
release I felt watching my mother walk out of thedoors of the Virginia Correctional Center for
Women.
Two guards walked her out and she didn’t see me atfirst leaning against my car, but I
called out “Mama” like I was a child again and herface split into a grin. She hugged me and she
smelled like cheap soap, and I breathed it in. Thetimes I went during visiting hours and hugged
her had nothing on this. She wouldn’t be taken awayfrom me this time. I wouldn’t have to drive
home from the prison by myself trying not to cry.
She held me like a vice and told me she loved me.I asked her where she wanted to go.
16 October 1969 Finlen Hotel and Inn, 100 E BroadwaySt, Butte, MT 59701
Kate. I got your letter back in Washington, delivereda day before we were supposed to
leave. Thanks, as well, for the polaroid. I’m happyto see my cactus plant in a pretty new pot,
somehow surviving. I understand why you didn’t responduntil now. You were never good at