itesser ink: progress, uncensored

Dear Elizabeth,

I heard some news today that I really must share with you. A favorite author of ours, Madeline L'Engle, passed away last week. While I was sharing this news with some people, I talked about how MLE helped shape my identity. That was one strong memory tied to her that brought tears to my eyes.

You are the other big memory connected to Madeline L'Engle, and the one that hurts more. Pulling out the old photographs and memories only sharpens the taste of loss. Do you remember those middle school days of relative ease? We had math together in a portable near the edge of campus and Mr. Johnson taught there. We sat at the back and before class we would exchange thoughts and notes on whatever L'Engle novel we recently read. You introduced me to her more "grown-up" books, and I remember taking notes while reading A Ring of Endless Light. Even at the close of our friendship, however, I was still wary of reading something as mature as House Like a Lotus (or was it Camilla? Maybe both.)

After thinking about those shared literary experience, other thoughts of junior high cascade down around me. Drama, camping, Washington DC, lunches, sleepovers, PE, Pepper, that funny round chair, and your neighbor I never got along with. And, with incredible embarrassment, the day I hurt you and we stopped being friends. Looking back, I can't remember what I was thinking, but I yell at my past self, walking around the soccer field, I yell at myself not to do it, it's not worth it, you don't know the pain you're causing...

But that's how it was. Me being an idiot, finding out years later, and then a few distant meetings in the halls at high school.

I really am sorry.

It's possible that only soft-focus memories of the past make me miss you, and that our friendship would've gone more drastically awry in high school, or some time since then. Are those two years, nearly ten years ago themselves, those two years of friendship worth me now looking and hoping for a revival? Or if not revival, some kind of contact or "keep in touch" everyone promised in yearbooks way back when.

I do look. Now and then when I'm feeling nostalgic I'll google your name and try to read between the poets and photographers and see if some sign of you is there. It worked one time, kinda. There was an article about you in a play at a college on the east coat. No kind of contact information, though. But I was happy to see you were still doing what you love.

Once I even tried MySpace. It was silly. MySpace isn't your style. It was a long shot and a bust in the end, but I tried.

I know you're out there, Elizabeth. I want you to know Madeline L'Engle died last week, passing at 88 of natural causes. I'll miss her.

I miss you, too.

Love,

Annie