Monday, April 21, 2003

I doubt you have a clue, but you were one of my might-have-beens. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't even remember me. We didn't have any classes together, just some common friends, and a lot of late nights when you were waiting tables and I was killing time with conversation, coffee, and giant cinnamon rolls. There were others, of course, girls I never quite found the courage to ask out, but you have the luxury of a name that's hard to forget and easy to Google, which led to a fan site, where you kept posting even as marriage changed your name, which led to a department newsletter, and a photo, you, the husband, a daughter with your eyes, a story in the local paper about her health problems and recovery, and I can picture the late nights, the tears, and, though your mind and your faith always seemed to be wrestling one another, the prayers. I can picture the relief, taste the niggling doubt that sometimes comes late at night, hear the questioning in your voice when you tell strangers that she's okay now.

We didn't really know each other, not enough that I'd send you an email. And, besides, how do you start that email? "I was cyber-stalking you and ran across this article..." No, I'll leave it here. Like a bowl of cream left out for the fairies, I'll take my good wishes, my wondering, wishing, and if-onlys, and set them on my threshold for whoever needs them.

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