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Dear Conrad,
I’m writing you from the Paris airport (forgive the cheesy postcard, it was this or Notre Dame). By the time this reaches you, you’ll be back in California. I saw you in the Cousins airport and wanted to say hi, but thought maybe it was best not to. And I was holding up the line. Hope you made it home safe.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
Before I got here, I thought they were exaggerating about the French, but I think it’s all true. It turns out my French is terrible, though I’ve been practicing. Today I managed two full sentences before the barista switched to English. This feels like progress.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
Today I am feeling melancholic. I went for a long walk along the river, which was very beautiful. Sometimes I feel so homesick I imagine myself on the first flight back. But it’s never Philly I picture coming home to. It’s Cousins. Funny, right?
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
Tonight my friends and I went out to an old-fashioned speakeasy. We drank French 75s, and afterwards went dancing at a club nearby. I think I like Paris. Sometimes I still pinch myself, like I can’t believe this is real life. It is though. I wonder if you felt that way out in Palo Alto. I hope so.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
I tried to think of what I wanted to say today and it wouldn’t fit on a postcard. I know I could just call you, but I’m still frightened. If you get this in the mail, it means I’m feeling brave. I think of you often. I hope you understand why I haven’t called.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
Last week, at the cinema where I work, they played It Happened One Night. I only saw a bit of the opening and had to go cry in the bathroom. Do you remember when Susannah had that idea about us going to Italy for the summer instead of Cousins? I almost wish we had gone.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
Happy Thanksgiving! It’s hard to feel festive without home (or turkey). My mom tells me you’re all going to Cousins this year. Sorry I couldn’t make it. I worry if I got on a plane, I’d never come back. And I still really want to stay.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
Writing you from a little French vineyard that belongs to the uncle of a friend of a friend. We’ve come up for a weekend as it’s in the off season. It’s quiet here and you can see more of the stars. Did you know they’re different on the other side of the world? Probably you did. Wonder what the sky looks like where you are.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
Yesterday I got locked out of my apartment. Getting back in was an adventure that won’t fit on a postcard. I’ll tell you one day. As a teaser: They put bathtubs in some of the kitchen here, did you know? I didn’t.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
For every postcard I send you, there are at least four I haven’t. I know it’s a bit unfair of me to send them without a return address. I don’t know if you’d write back, if you could. I like to think so. Went to a Christmas market today. I think you’d like the pastries here. They aren’t too sweet.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
I bet it’s warm in California. It’s very cold here. Even so, Paris in the snow isn’t like anywhere else. Picture me in this winter scene, smiling.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
Taylor came to visit for New Years. I felt like a proper tour guide. She told me she saw you over the holidays and that you looked well. On Christmas, I went for a long walk with a friend through the empty streets. I think sometimes this has been the worst year of my life. And the best.
—Belly
Dear Conrad,
I’m sending you a proper letter this time, to go with your birthday gift (your welcome). You’d think that meant I had more to say, but I’ve been staring at the page for an hour.
You feel very far away here. But does it sound terrible if I say the distance has been good?
I worry sometimes that I did everything wrong. Not just last summer, but maybe from the very beginning. My friend Gemma says that regret doesn’t do anyone any good (I think you’d like her, everyone does), and I’ve been working on that. Which is to say: it was worth it to me, too. Being with you. Though I know it’s caused a lot of grief.
It’s getting warmer here and last weekend I went to the coast with some friends. I’ve enclosed a little bottle of sand, too. My friends thought I was crazy, but I thought you’d get what I meant.
—Belly
Dear Belly,
I’ve written a response to every one of your postcards. They’ve been sitting stacked on my desk since you sent the first one. I look at them often, just as I look at your postcards often and try to picture what you looked like writing each one. I’m not sure if that comes across as romantic or creepy. I hope the former.
I thought of sending my responses along with this letter, but I thought it might be overkill. I’ll keep them here on my desk along with the figurine you sent me. It’s beautiful, and I hope the knight symbolism is meant to be flattering. I’ve been talking to my therapist about the hero complex. I think you might be onto something.
School has been horrendously busy, and I feel sometimes as if I’m drowning in it. I’m working in Dr. Namazy’s clinic this spring as well as taking classes. She’s told me everyone deserves a second chance. I’m trying not to waste it.
—Conrad
Dear Conrad,
Recently, I had a very terrible bout of the flu and had my first experience in a French hospital. Sitting in the waiting room, I had the strangest feeling that the doctor was going to come out and it would be you. It wasn’t, obviously, and I’m fine now, don’t worry. Still, it’s funny to think of you seeing patients. Dr. Fisher! I’m sure you’re doing wonderfully.
To help in your imaginings, I have recently chopped off my hair. It’s very freeing, though I’m not sure you would recognize me.
Everything feels different when spring comes around again, don’t you think? Flowers are finally starting to bloom, and I wore shorts for the first time yesterday since September. I was shivering by nightfall, but it was worth it.
—Belly
P.S. Thank you for the sand. I’ve put it in my nightstand.
Dear Belly,
Today, one of our patients was an eight year old with an advanced brain tumor that had metastasized. After we made the diagnosis, I had to go outside briefly to weep before coming back in to continue my shift. I’ve always known, of course, that medicine involves just as many tragedies as miracles. More, probably. It’s different seeing it up close though. On the other side.
Agnes and I went out afterwards to the driving range. She has a surprisingly mean swing. Even now that I’m back home, however, I still feel as if I’m trapped in that room, watching the parents take the news. Is it bad to admit sometimes I worry I’m not strong enough for this work?
On days like this, I often reread your letters. I like imagining you in Paris, shivering in your shorts with your new hair. Or smiling amongst the snow. Or at a vineyard sipping wine. Selfishly, I wish sometimes I was there with you.
Probably I should tear up this letter and start a new one, on a better day; but today, of all days, all I really want is to talk to you.
Signed,
I’m not Dr. Fisher yet, Just Conrad
To Just Conrad,
I’ve read your letter more times than I can say, trying to think of the perfect thing to write in response. I’m not sure there is one. That sounds extremely difficult. Especially for you. I know you know by now that not everything can be fixed, but I have always admired how hard you try anyway. Anybody who has you as a doctor will be so lucky.
I hope you are taking care of yourself in addition to all the other things you’re doing. In case you aren’t, these are cookies from my favorite bakery. Hopefully, they aren’t too stale by the time they reach you.
Yours,
Belly
Dear Belly,
I think a lot about the many postcards you didn’t send to me. Almost as much as I’ve been thinking about how you signed your last letter. Will you ever tell me what they said?
Thank you for the flowers (And the cookies. They weren’t that stale). It’s hard to believe it’s been five years. When I went back to the grave, Jeremiah was there and we spoke. I’m not sure we’ll ever be close again, but it was better. We talked about you some, which is a first. Or maybe a second.
Exams begin soon so I’ll be very busy. But not too busy to write, if you’re so inclined. Or call. I hope it’s not presumptuous to say, but I’ve missed your voice. And all the rest of you.
Love,
Conrad
Dear Conrad,
I finally have my own place. I have more to say about my previous living situation than I can bear to put to the page, and it’ll have to wait. Tonight, it is a perfect Paris evening. I have all the windows open, and most of my things out of boxes. I have turned the radio on (I’ve grown to like French music, though they often play American tunes), opened a bottle of wine, and am writing to you.
I can hardly believe I’ve been in Paris nine months, and that I’ve signed a lease and decided to stay another year. It’s funny to think that nine months ago I had never left home before. That I didn’t believe that I could. Don’t say I told you so.
Once you’re finished with exams, will you have time off? And if so, what do you think of Paris? Someone there right now is thinking of you fondly.
Yours,
Belly
TEXT FROM CONRAD FISHER TO BELLY CONKLIN, 1:08 AM PST
[a screenshot of a flight confirmation email for CONRAD FISHER on Delta 136 from SFO to CDG]
TEXT FROM BELLY CONKLIN TO CONRAD FISHER, 10:01 AM CEST
i’m guessing that’s a yes?
TEXT FROM CONRAD FISHER TO BELLY CONKLIN, 2:15 AM PST
it’s a yes