ROSEMAN COVERED BRIDGE, MADISON CO. IA
Sept 10 1965
Enclosed here are two photographs. One is the shot I took of you in the pasture at sunrise. I hope you like it as much as I do. The other half is Roseman Bridge before I removed your note tacked to it.
I sit here trolling the gray areas of my mind for every detail, every moment, of our time together. I ask myself over and over, “What happened to me in Madison County, Iowa?” And I struggle to bring it together. Tat’s why I wrote the little piece, “Falling from Dimension Z,” I have enclosed, as a way of trying to sift through my confusion.
I look down the barrel of a lens, and you’re at the end of it. I begin to work on an article, and I’m writing about you. I’m not even sure how I got back here from Iowa. Somehow the old truck brought me home, yet I barely remember the miles going by.
A few weeks ago, I felt self-contained, reasonably content.. Maybe not profoundly happy, maybe a little lonely, but at least content. All of that has changed.
It’s clear to me now that I have been moving toward you and you toward me for a long time. Though neither of us was aware of the other before we met, there was a kind of mindless certainty humming blithely along beneath our ignorance that ensured we would come together. Like two solitary birds flying the great prairies by celestial reckoning, all of these years and lifetimes we have been moving toward one another.
The road is a strange place. Shuffling along, I looked up and you were there walking across the grass toward my truck on an August day. In retrospect, it seems inevitable – it could not have been another way – a case of what I call the high probability of the improbable.
So here I am walking around with another person inside me. Though I think I put it better the day we parted wen I said there is a third person we have created from the two of us. And I am stalked now by that other entity.
Somehow, we must see each other again. Any place, any time.
Call me if you ever need anything or simply want to see me. I’ll be there, pronto. Let me know if you can come out here sometime – anytime. I can arrange plane fare, if that’s a problem. I’m off to southwest India next week, but I’ll be back in late October.
I Love You,
This is the first part of the series of letters Robert Kincaid gave to Francesca.