Cheryl hadn’t met him. They had corresponded for years after she joined a group of writers, formed to write to our troops overseas. They all took pen in hand and began writing service members overseas; especially when they were far away from loved ones during holidays.
She’d reread Dick’s replies as the letters became heated and lust nearly singed the pages. They prepared to meet when he came stateside. Dick had described a date she couldn’t have dreamed up herself. For months, she tried to imagine the scenario she’d prepared for.
Hours into that night, she sat in his car silently cursing him. This was not the man in the picture he had sent. This was not the behavior of a man who intended to keep his word. He drank heavily while she fantasized about chocolate Häagen-Dazs and preferring to be alone with it.
By comparison, and with all things considered, Cheryl found the reality of Dick to be substandard, but lighting his letters on fire would boost her spirits.
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