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Written for one reader

Never sent. Never read. Impossible to be read by anyone but me.

 

It had been written in ‘speedwriting’ – I could still read it. I had learned the skill from a pocket book over forty years ago when I was attending law school. I became able to transcribe the professors’ dissertation almost verbatim. At trials, I wrote the testimony of the various witness, being, on occasion, able to contest the version of the Court Reporter when it mattered.

 

My then wife worked for me, a lawyer, as my bookkeeper. When the proceedings of divorce encroached on our familial relations a strange relation developed between her and I. She continued to be employed by me for a time. To some extent she confided a good number of things about her relationship with another man which, as a lawyer, I came to believe, would be valuable to shield my three daughters from her involvement with him. It was then, that I began to transcribe our conversations into a scribbler in speedwriting after she left me.

 

The proceedings after the divorce never required that I rely on my transcripts, each one bearing its own date. They would have been explosive. Now, perhaps reprehensible. I don’t recall deciding I would never rely upon them. Probably because my experience with divorce had inculcated in me the notion that even with denial of visitation it as better that the children not be stressed by their parents animosity. My reading, at the time, indicated that children that have been denied the involvement of a parent most often researched their relationship by their second decade to shape a more amicable bond with that parent.

 

While annual proceedings were brought be me each September to enforce the visitation rights set out in our divorce judgement, I never relied upon my surreptitious transcriptions.

 

With the years those transcripts floated away from my view and my mind. Lost, completely lost to me, and never capable of being read by anyone but me. Until a few moments ago.

 

Not an ounce of anger, disappointment, or annoyance entered my soul. Instead, to my own surprise, as I began to decipher the speedwriting, I felt a sense of relief, accomplishment, of refreshed certifiable memory, of unlocking other caverns of recollections. I revisited my own soul of long ago. Undeniably, I had written it for one reader.orange landscape


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