Forty-three

 Peggy,

    Well, it was like you and I writing back and forth. Same feel, same ideas, same touch of unfamiliarity early on, after sunrise we were like you and I when you had come back. No, that's incorrect: she and I did not stay away from each other like I did with you. Time finally wore away the fear. OK. OK. I grew up. 

    I think about Mike every so often. As I did with you, before you wrote to me the first time, I wonder if he is still alive, remembering his bladder cancer in high school. 

    So where do you go? I have the river. I have always had the river. Oh, not the same one, but always a river. Pisces. Remember the astrology letter you sent me? 

    I would write of trees, birds, water, the whole nature thing. 

    She said, before she left (we ended up at my house), "...keep me safe, lay with me..." from Natalie Merchant's Motherland. As I usually do after I read your letters, I stood at the door and cried. (No, she didn't turn around.)

    Ok. Goodnight.

    

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