I sit in the audience beside Steven. He holds my hand as it sweats. He is watching the ballet. I am inside my head, watching myself relive things from the past over and over. Remembering events like steps to a dance. I try to stop repeating my thoughts night after night but the twirling continues. I can't forget.
My father died on Monday. Tuesday, I dug a hole in the back yard and threw in a condom from his wallet, a toothbrush from his shaving kit, and four letters from Her, including the first one I found when I was nineteen. I stared for a minute but I took the letters back out and poured lighter fluid on the rest. I considered dancing as it burned.
The first letter. Crumpled from hundreds of reads. No perfume left. Dear Patrick. Four days since we met. Miss you dearly. Think of you all the time. You're so funny. So smart. So mysterious. Compliments, compliments. Want to see you again. A phone number. The name of a bar. Sincerely.

The action continues on stage. The female ballerina is falling for the male one. He marches, macho and tough, while she twirls to get his attention. He's probably nothing like that at home, I think. He's probably gay. He's definitely not what he seems. I wonder if it would be better for her to know the truth or to live the lie.
It had been three days since his body quit. The funeral was long, far longer than the heart attack took to kill him. I looked for Her but She did not come, not even to stand in the back. I wanted to scream at the corpse, You threw away my trust for a woman who didn't come to your funeral. I began to cry and my mother, oblivious, held me.
A letter from his dresser drawer. Pressed rose falls out. Still innocent. Miss holding your hand. The weight of your arm on my shoulder. Thanks for dinner. Loved the restaurant. Want to see you again. Staying an extra week. Large cursive. Eloquent language. Sincerely.

I scan the audience. I am always scanning buses, supermarkets, football games, anywhere where there is a crowd, to find Her. I want to see Her, just once. I want to tell Her about the man She didn't know and I want Her to tell me about the man I didn't know. I search row by row now, wondering when I'll give up.
It was every day for the first four weeks after he passed. I waited beside the mailbox every afternoon starting at two. The rest of the letters were not in the house, not in the drawers I insisted on cleaning out alone or in the closet I searched by flashlight. I was obsessed by what could be in the box from the office.
Letter from the drawer. Angry. Scrawling. No perfume, no flower. A wife. Does she know? Why didn't you tell me sooner? How can you love me? Don't know what to do. Already fell in love. You bastard. Cried myself to sleep. Can't eat. Can't do this to another woman. Will send next letter to office. Goodbye.

On the third row, there is a woman who looks about ten years younger than my mother. I decide that is Her. I have played this out many times with strangers. I see this woman and my father holding hands. I see this woman writing letters and spraying them with perfume, slowly licking the envelopes. I see them having sex.
He had not breathed in a month and a half. The box came and I took it to my room. There were papers, a picture of me at prom and a manila envelope. I could smell the perfume through it. His secretary had attached a note to my mother. I trashed the condoms and kept the secretary's note and the letters from Her. There were thirty-five.
Note from Mrs.Barnes. Dear Martha. So sorry. Didn't know until now. Would have told you. Sorry to tell you like this. Private this way. Won't mention it to anyone. Sorry about his death. Will be missed at the office. Good man. Don't know Her. Never saw Her. God Bless.

When I think of sex, I shudder. Steven and I have not had sex. I say I want to wait until marriage. But, in bed, when his fingers run in and out of me, he is so involved he doesn't notice I am still, I feel nothing. I am afraid of sex. When I have sex, I will know what was more important to my father than his family.
It was a year after he died. My mother found a pen from the Holiday Inn in the junk drawer. How did I miss that? I thought. What's this? my mother asked. It's mine, I said. Why would you stay at the Holiday Inn when you have a bed here? She was hurt. I didn't, I said, looking casual, I found it. Oh, she said.
Letter from the manila envelope. Perfumed. Dearest Patrick. On plane. Back to west coast. Smelled you on my pillow this morning. Miss you. Feel you all over. Visit soon. Won't be soon enough. When will you tell her? How will she take it? After divorce, where will you live? Warmer here. But memories there. Thinking of you.

The woman in the audience does not take her eyes from the stage. I look to see what is so interesting. The male ballerina has fallen - maybe he is dead. The female ballerina sobs over him. Suddenly, it is black and when the lights come on again, she is twirling to pounding, confusing music. She falls in a heap.
A year and a half had passed without him. I moved to the coast where I could be alone. I ran a website from home, only going out for groceries and laundry. I kept a picture of my mother beside my bed but one night, it overwhelmed me. I am sorry for you, I yelled. Find someone better; find a better daughter. Find someone honest.
Letter from the manila envelope. Faded perfume. My dear. When can you visit? Will clear the whole weekend. Won't be difficult. Miss you so much. Wonderful sunsets here. Better with you by my side. Lonely. Life is slower here. You would like it. Smells like the mountains. Dreamt of you last night. When will you come? Waiting.

The curtain drops on stage. Steven sees my confusion. Don't worry, he says, it's only intermission. I nod but then I remember the stranger. I whip around fast to follow her out with my eyes. She wears a white dress and long gloves. I see her again in the lobby. Was my father this enchanted with her? She goes in the ladies' room.
He had been rotting for two years. My boyfriend, Chris, and I were "in love." In bed, he hugged me and I felt safe. My father cheated on my mother, I confided. Chris groaned and slid his fingers in me. Sex should have been a new smell, but I recognized it from my father's clothes. After that, I couldn't feel Chris' fingers at all.
Letter from the manila envelope. Dripping with perfume. My love. Received your letter. It's been far too long. Can't wait for next month. Have you told her? Nothing here fits. Empty without you. Miss your touch. Your face. Send picture for nightstand. Must take pictures when you come. Kisses.

In the ladies room, I do not have to use the toilet so I stand at the mirror instead. I wish I had some lipstick to redo or a compact but I have never worn makeup. I try to dress down. My black dress tonight hides my figure. Do I look like I'm hiding a secret? I ask myself in the mirror. The black circles under my eyes smile, yes.
My father had not breathed in four years. I went to visit my mother. Her hugs were tight; I patted her back lightly. We sat at the table I found the first letter on. What's wrong? she asked. She had asked for four years. Nothing, I said. I had said that for four years. She cried, like before. She didn't understand the secrets but I was protecting her.
Letter from the envelope. Angry. Patrick. Don't come next month. Children? A family picture? For the nightstand? Too many lies. Too many secrets. But miss you. Unfair telling me now. Too late to stop. How will you leave them? Where will they live? How old? How many? Can't believe it. Do come next month. Missing you.

The woman walks to the sink beside me. I have never been this close to one of the strangers. With the corner of my eye, I look in her mirror instead of mine. She has green eyes; my mother has brown. She wears makeup; my mother doesn't even wear lip-gloss. She is tall and thin; my mother is short and bony with age. I look like my mother.
It had been seven years since we buried him. In the grocery store, I stared at a man until he turned to glare at me. He was picking out oranges and leaning against his shopping cart as casually as one smokes a cigarette. He had the posture and confidence my father did when I was twelve and still wanted to marry a man just like him.
Letter from envelope. Months have passed. My dearest Patrick. Home again after all these weeks. Too bad about my job offer. Not enough. You must try here. Miss sleeping with you. Miss your warmth. Miss the sweat. Miss your mouth. Miss your heavy breathing. Leave her. Come visit. With all my heart.

She sees me staring. This is my moment, I think. My father is dead, I say. I'm sorry, She says. She has the look of a small animal trying to get away. Did you know him? I ask. I don't think so, She says. She is lying. His name was Patrick, I say. No, I didn't know him, She says. Did you wait for him long at the airport? I ask.
It had been nine years since he died. I met Steven at the Laundromat and gave him my number. He called the next day and we went to dinner. We went to many dinners and movies but he never stayed the night. I wouldn't let him. He sent me a love letter once. I tore it up before reading it.
Letter from envelope. Laced in perfume. Dear lover. Body aches for you. Must feel you again. Been far too long. Come here to the west coast. Can't come back east. Job permits it. Need to feel you again. Need to see you again. Did you tell her? Tell her and come. Bed is empty without you. Aching. Your lover.

I am convinced this is Her. I think he would have come, I say, if he hadn't died. She is walking away, out the door of the bathroom. I see Her hips swing. I picture them moving against my father. Was the sex good? Was it worth giving up his family? I am yelling in the lobby now. People are gathering around.
My father had been gone ten years. Steven was on his knees on the busy sidewalk. I was sweating. Will you marry me, he asked. No. He asked once a week for three months. I wanted him to show his true self. I could not trust him. Leave me, I said. Why? he asked, sad eyed. Because you will someday anyhow, I said.
Letter from envelope. Plane ticket falls out. A ticket for two days after he died. My love, my life. You must choose. Cannot wait any longer. Plane ticket for you. Choose me. Will wait at gate. Throw myself around you. Choose her. No more letters. Not a word. Decide. Miss you terribly. Love you. Love.

I grab Her wrist. She is looking wide-eyed at the ushers for help. They are moving around, closing in on me. I didn't know your father, She insists. I think I smell the perfume; it surrounds me and weighs down on me. My head is heavy. He picked you, I bet, I say. Then he died. Did you wait for him? Did you think he would come?
My father has been dead for eleven years. Steven comes out of the men's room and drags me out of the lobby, away from the staring crowd. The woman in the white dress is talking to an usher. She is pointing at me. I flick Her off. She looks hurt, like She doesn't understand, like my mother. Would he have gone? I yell. Would he?
Card from a stranger. Sent to office. Weeks after funeral. Roses on the front. With Sympathy. The perfume. The handwriting. To whoever is left. So sorry. Wonderful man. Strong. Handsome. Sweet. Charming. Will miss him terribly. Void without him. Sincerely.

Steven picks me up and takes me outside. My eyes burn, I can't breathe or speak and Steven rubs my back. Please, he says. Tell me. What happened in there? Would who have gone? he asks. My father, I say, through sobs. What? Steven says. My father cheated on my mother, I say. Steven holds me and I feel pain - but pain is something.
It has been eleven years since my father died. I am back at my apartment. Steven and I do not have sex, but I tell him everything. I will not marry him yet. I will not have sex with him yet. But he will stay with me and sleep in my bed. I will see if he leaves during the night, if his pillow is empty tomorrow morning.
Letter. From me to Her. Never sent. Folded obituary. Patrick is dead. Did you wait at the airport long? My mother does not know. She will never know. To her, she was the only woman in his heart. Only you and I will live with his double life. Only you and I will guess about whom he would have left behind. Yours Truly.

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