December 8th, 1952 — Joyce writes from her Education and Sociology class, balancing her notebook on her lap while Dr. Shiri looms nearby, close enough to notice she’s writing. She sketches the seating chart in her letter, amused and cautious — everyone around her seems to read over her shoulder. She’s wearing her new skirt and belt, feeling “very grad looking,” and musing about how unpredictable Shiri’s tests are — too general in class, too specific on exams.
She apologizes for the short, penciled note, but even this hurried letter feels rich with her humor and detail: a ridiculous class comment about “solving” the southern race problem by “moving everyone north,” her Christmas card list of 31 names, and plans to buy her friend a delicate demi-tasse cup as a gift. Between notes about grades, oral exams, and her trip to Boulder to see Earl, Joyce’s warmth cuts through the academic chatter.
By the end, she’s eating cake and apples for breakfast — a small comfort amid the finals rush — and promises to tell Earl what Piernaut said in her next letter. It’s another glimpse into her everyday world: exams, errands, and the steady rhythm of missing the man she loves.
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