Kathy to Hilary, January 28, 1972, Tehran, Iran January 28, 1972
Dear Hilary,
I was just a big clumsy maniac all day long. Slipped in the ice. Dropped my notebook in the mud and all the papers came out. Do you ever have days like that? When you break everything you touch? My famous “sledgehammer touch.” The school, the army depot next door, the kuche in front our house are all a sea of mud, all the snow has melted and we slide from place to place. Today was the third time I’ve worn a dress to school (historic occasion) and you should have seen how filthy my tights were. I wish I had some of those clog-boots I saw in Honey.
Dad had one of his famous parties. Maybe I told you about the preparations. We had an Iranian band with a tar and a zither and a belly dancer who was the opposite of exotic. She was rouged and painted and dressed in a gaudy evening dress. No harem girl outfit? Everyone loved the band, and after a few drinks down the gullet the reticent became brave and did the dance of the mating cranes like at the wedding. How I loved watching everyone at the party.
The Iranian government felt that they had rooted out and completely crushed the subversive Iraqi elements in Tehran, or so they bragged. But lo! Last night two bombs apiece go off at both the co-op at the embassy and the Iran Amerika Society--no, they’re not dead, they do not sleep and mom fears a reprisal at our house because dad works with the gendarmerie which allegedly crushed the movement. What can our guard’s rifle do against maniacs with bombs?
F. got pissed because I went to a school soccer game without him. 
Madame wants me to stay at home and not to go out with Farzad. I’m getting to where I’d rather not go out with him, but fear of getting blown up sure isn’t going to keep me at home. I don’t know if I want to be free or not. I mean, of Farzad. It’s not that I want anyone else. It’s more the aesthetic pleasure of being free that I want, I like to roam by myself and come and go as I please. If only I didn’t feel that “unrest men miscall delight.” But I can’t now, my life is ordered by F’s whim’s. He says he LOVES me and wants to hold on to me until I go and then gets pissed when I go to an Iranzamin soccer game without him. I guess I’m just playing a game. Maybe I don’t think F is smart or handsome or big enough for me--that’s what he accuses me of--and maybe I want someone fashionable like Roberto in Spanish class who’s blonde and fills his pants well...but anything else? Sure he speaks Spanish and once lived in Wheaton, MD, but anything else? What are his virtues? Do we admire virtues or vices in people? Anyway, I’ve decided it’s got to end, but I’m not sure how this happens. Any suggestions?
Sad today because one of the seniors was killed on Thursday. An accident cleaning his rifle but everyone thinks it’s suicide. Who knows and why does it matter? Knowing him only a little I can imagine he had his reasons for killing himself, but I only want to close my mind from thinking about it.
It’s all been so miserable and confused.
6:53:34 AM 
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