[Two Hearts Desire cover]

Notes from the Housekeeper

By Asa Dean Liles

From Two Hearts Desire

From notes left by Asa for Richard, on his pillow, under his teacup, slipped inside the book he's reading, handed to him, read to him, written to him over the years.

September 1993, a Housekeeping Note:
Richard: I didn't match your socks because most of them don't match. I hope that's OK. Asa.
p.s. I came late so I only took thirty of the forty bucks.

A Wretched Day in Early Aug '94:
Richard. As I have mentioned, words are not enough, inadequate. Be that as it may, I must mention that I am experiencing RAGE! HATE! . . . confusion is a by-product. Do not be afraid. AIDS, massive poor self-esteem, demons, death of friends . . . my traps affect us, but they are mine. They are completely about me. Be patient. I do know who loves me.

Some Fucking Weird Day in Oct 94:
Hello. The last sheet of one's notebook should always go to a worthy cause. So . . . I just feel like saying hello and hugging you. Actually, as much as you hate it, just saying thank you for us, our relationship, our love, our friendship . . .

Undated 1995
Sweetheart. You know, you said something that has been in my heart all day, that I was a part of your present life, and your future. It was perhaps a simple statement to you, but its depth is warm and profound to me. Thank you for many things but mostly thank you for you . . .
p.s. I'll be home soon.

Summer 1995:
Ssshhh. Let's be quiet. Richard is trying to read and work. Just wanted to say, I really like it when we are both at home together. Signed, Asa Bigmouth.

Later That Same Note:
I find myself coming out into our long narrow hallway, at my end of the house, and looking down to see if you are sitting at the table in the kitchen. You know, when I created that space I got many wonderful obvious gifts, but I also got an unexpected gift . . . seeing you, Richard, sitting happily in our home. It makes me smile.

December 12, 1995, Asa's Birthday:
How can that be? You apologize for not being here for my birthday dinner, and I have to set you right. You are always here. You are always here surrounding and holding our family together.

Undated 1996
I fall into spells of quiet despair and ailing desires . . . feeling like I don't belong anywhere. But here you are (very late flight home from New York), sick and not feeling well at all . . . I'm washing towels for you and making tea for you and talking to the dog about you. I do belong. Whatever happens, this is my family, taking care of you and Percy.

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