That was how we started our letters in the beginning.
Eva was my pen pal from the time I was eight years old until I was in college. I still have all her letters, bound and numbered, in a trunk in my current house.
We went from stories of girl angst to parent angst, to boys. From the first kiss to "going all the way." We told each other our thoughts we thought no one else would understand.
She was from Virginia. We called each other on rare occasion. I loved the way she talked, like Southern meets Canada with the how-se thing. This was before the times of nationwide cell phones. I had to pay my parents back for those long-distance calls. Still, it wasn't the same when we talked on the phone. We had uncomfortable silences that we never had in our letters. I guess because in our letters, we never actually had to have a conversation.
I felt I knew her better than I knew most of my "best friends." I knew she had a torn heart between the boy who was her intellectual equal and the one who made her loins ache.
We both wanted to be writers. We both majored in journalisim in college. We both worked in the newspaper industry for a while. She, at a family paper of her husband's.
She found me when Switchboard came out. We caught up, but didn't stay in touch as we were in our 30s and had family obligations. I'd like to find her again and give her this blog address.
She was always a better writer than me.
Perhaps this blog is a poor substitiute for what I had with Eva for all those years, all those years ago. I miss her.