So the other day I was at my grandmother’s house in my old room rummaging through a pile of forgotten belongings that were resting in the giant old wardrobe that takes up a quarter of the room where I spent a good part of my childhood. In this pile I found weird old games (Crocodile Dentist, Just Say No), a Incredible Hulk Uno game, a painting of a cat, and a strange pile of homemade cards that apparently dated back to when I was in the second grade. That was when I lived in Florida, and these were going-away cards. They were all written to me by friends I had when I was nine, who I have since long forgotten, and who in turn have long forgotten me. Reading these gave me a pleasant, sad feeling, as I imagined a parallel world where I stayed in Florida and stayed best friends with Andy, Mitch and Katey. These letters were handmade, with bizarre illustrations of palm trees, conch shells, and people made of bubbles. Two of them have squares cut into the middle, simulating windows, while one is actually a note proclaiming the maker’s love for a girl named Catherine. Catherine herself wrote me a good-bye letter, where she say’s that she will miss me even though I used to call her a “cockaroach”.
I miss them.
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