Saturday, March 26, 2011
I used to have correspondents. Did you? I owned a hand-sized, leather-bound address book containing the names of all the classmates and campmates and balletomanes from whom I could possibly wring personal information. Over the years I crossed out some folks (don't throw water balloons and expect to keep your place in the J's) and penciled in others (all those girls from England, with their stringy hair and miscegenating letters and numbers for postal codes). But, at least until high school, I had people upon whom to inflict my handwriting, my sticker collection, my loyalty.
My card to Lily was the first I've mailed in a while. I stuck it between the teeth of the mailbox one morning and found it in the backyard five days later, wind-bitten and wet through. I opened it up, dried it out, found a new envelope, and tried again. I want to believe that, even now, even when we can travel without maps, announce without speaking, watch without being watched, we can still write to one another.