Par avion post

On a long ago St. Patrick’s Day, I wrote this post:

Dear Colleen,

I’m sorry I haven’t written in 22 years. To say I’ve been busy the entire time wouldn’t be entirely accurate.

I think of you, my childhood pen pal, often. We were matched by my Girl Scout troop when I was nine years old. You were ten, but glad to have me as a pen pal despite having 10% more years of living under your Girl Guide sash. You were across the Atlantic Ocean on the island of Ireland. The stamps you attached to the airmail envelopes said “Eire” on them and I was quite impressed. They always seemed to feature gryphons and gargoyles, wild creatures from wild Eire. I thought you were just as exotic.

I remember asking in one letter if you believed in leprechauns and banshees. My ideas of the Irish were formed by too many viewings of “Darby O’Gill and the Little People.” You wrote back and said no, you didn’t. I was slightly disappointed, so I moved on to the next monster of the British Isles—Nessie, of Loch Ness.

No, you didn’t believe in her either, and you gently pointed out that she lives in Scotland. Wisely, I didn’t ask you about Abominable Snowmen. If I had a pen pal in the Alps, she would have been asked about the mythical creatures in her backyard.

One of your letters informed me your father drove a Ford Grenada. I had never heard of a Ford Grenada, and I had seen plenty of car commercials. You wore a uniform to school. You sent a picture of yourself, taken in your confirmation dress. You looked like a bride. You liked a boy named John. Once, you sent Irish coins. It’s a miracle the flimsy airmail envelope managed to get them from ancient County Galway to nouveau-ancient western Colorado. You were a girl like me, with dark brown curly hair and light eyes. When you sent your picture, I thought you could have been my sister.

We wrote for about three years, then stopped. I think it was because we were young teenagers and the world outside our bedroom doors was distracting—we didn’t notice the slowing of the stamps. I kept your letters for many years in my top dresser drawer. I am sad to say I do not know what happened to them. Despite not having the letters, I still remember your childhood address and still remember what you wrote.

Thank you.

Your American pen pal,

Gretchen

P.S. No, I’ve never seen Bigfoot.

~~~~~~

Today, I wrote a letter to her via the address I remembered from childhood. Who knows where it will end up? It’s on its way, though.