When I was in junior high, a friend's cousin came to visit her in Jacksonville and we became friends ourselves. Since they only stayed a week or two and it was the late 80's/early 90's when the internet was not generally available to most of the public, we had to make do writing letters to one another after she left town.
Every few months I get a few pages of notebook paper folded like they were meant to be fit in the back pocket of my jeans instead of the envelopes they came in. "HI BRY!" was always splashed on one side of the packet and the handwriting was different from letter to letter, like she was figuring out exactly who she wanted to be through penmanship. I still struggle to make my handwriting look like I'm older than eight and it amazes me that women have this knack.
We shared everything. I mean everything. Ev. Er. Ee. Thing. There were no limits to the conversation, although they usually revolved around how school was, what our friends were up to, and what kind of trouble we got ourselves into. Deeper than the trivialities of daily life at 15, 16, and 17+ was the expression of trust and love that is obvious when I read them now. The topics we shared are things I'd never discuss with my circle of adult friends with the exception of my wife.
One day I stopped writing back. I don't remember when exactly and I'm very fuzzy on the why, but I got a letter and didn't send a reply. I don't know if I got another one after that, maybe, maybe not. They just stopped coming and I had lost my pen pal.
Three days ago, social media with it's esoteric algorithms decided that since she knew someone that knew someone that I knew that maybe we knew each other and I might want to see what was posted on her wall-feed-sharing-place. I've reconnected to quite a few friends in the last year or two of being very active online and it never occurred to me to look her up.
Maybe it did, but we had history. Major history with trust, sharing, and acceptance that I didn't have with anyone but the woman I've chosen to share my life with. In the past, that kind of history has stayed my hand in talking to ex-girlfriends just to avoid the inevitable elephant in the room. This time, though, it didn't.
What crossed my mind in the second before I clicked on the friend request was hope that she wouldn't judge me for not writing back. Fear that she would. The possibility that I'd be ignored in return twisted my guts as my finger applied pressure on the plastic button of the mouse. Too late, I had clicked it and the option to undo what I had done loomed before me for another eternally long second.
Which was how long it took for the Friend Request Sent to change to Friends.
Despite being agnostic, atheistic, and skeptical of all manner of phenomenon, I do ascribe to some metaphysical beliefs. The guiding hand of fate, subtle multiple circumstances that leads to amazing events, is something that's been difficult to shake because I've felt it's touch on several occasions. That sensation of being the focus of that thing or energy or collective bore down on me as though I was an insect being pinned on display.
My first message was chosen carefully, crafted to be eloquent, apologetic, inquiring, hopeful, neutral, inoffensive, but ended up being, "Long time no see, how you been pen pal?" I cringed, biting my hand. How could I be so stupid as to think that she would want to talk to me? How could she even reply to that? I should just log off now and leave it for later...
"Bloop," my computer told me. Which could mean anything from I don't remember you to how could you do what you did to me, don't you know ignoring someone close to you is the worst pain you could put them through? What was she going to say?
"Long time no see pal. I've been mostly good. How about yourself?" Just like that, the 20 years between then and now vanished. The letters have transmuted from notebook paper to digital chats, delays shortening responses from months to a few hours, minutes, or seconds.
The trust is still there. The acceptance and absence of judgement as present today as it was when we said our last goodbyes at 18. The over-sharing as well, but that's between us. Thanks, Jacque, it's great to have you back.
No comments:
Post a Comment