By: Amanda Dukes
Staff Writer

Love, J is a series of letters that will be published for upcoming issues of the Navigator. Each week will be a new letter. These letters are works of fiction and creative submissions. A full archive of past letters will be on the Roar 

September, 1967

“Mom?”  Jamie called, “Can you come help me with my veil?  It keeps getting caught.”  She turned away from the mirror as her mother walked into the room, a small box clutched in her hands.

“I’ll help you in a second love, but first sit down.  I want to show you something.”  Her mother settled on the settee next to the door and motioned Jamie to sit next to her.

“Now I know I haven’t told you much about your father,” her mother began, waving away Jamie’s attempt to respond.  “Let me finish.  I haven’t told you much about your father, but I think it’s time I changed that.  I wish so much that he could be here today to walk his little girl down the aisle.  That’s what he called you.  His little girl.  He would be so proud of you, Jamie.”

“What’s the box for, Mom?” Jamie asked, as she covered her mother’s hand that rested on the worn lid.

“Letters,” her mother replied, taking in a shaky breath.  “Letters from your father.  He wrote them to me, during the war.”  She pushed the box into Jamie’s hands, “I’d like for you to read them.”

Jamie looked down at the box in her hands.  It was simple, all except for the J carved into the wood of the lid.

“J?” Jamie asked, looking up to her mother.

“Just read them.  We can talk after you’re done.  It won’t take you long.”  Jamie nodded as her mother stood up and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.  Jamie turned her attention back to the box, tracing the carving before slowly opening the lid.  There were five letters at the top, the creases worn to tearing in some places.  There was an envelope, too, which looked nearly untouched.  Finally, resting on the bottom of a box was a half sheet of paper, creased from being crumpled making the words almost impossible to read.  She pulled the first letter from the box, unfolding it slowly to reveal a small signature at the bottom.  Love, J.