Day 11 Dear J.B.

Dear J.B.-

There are very few men who ever picked me up and swung me around like you did. My father, perhaps, when I was quite small. My friend, Sam, who loved to polka, and put his whole muscled body into that 1-2-3- and 1-2-3-and. Thursday nights at Hillel on Campus as a teenager, a serious highlight. Sam swung through that room and took me with him like a silk sash. We let the sweat fly! Sam’s gone now. I think of him and that spinning joy often with a pang.

But it’s you I’m thinking about today. Remember our raw, lean bodies on the shores of Lake Superior, the month on the waters north of Nippigon? I thought it was something about leading that trip together, seeing ourselves and 12 other kids paddle for a month in the wilderness, coming out changed and strong and in touch with that something. What? Essential? I was standing on a wide, flat rock taking in the big waters. My army pants were loose, my jungle boots shine had surely worn off. You stood next to me a minute then picked me up and swung me around in a big bear hug. Never one for many words, you set me down, grinned, and walked away. There was similar moment with you out on the state line at the farm. Sunset in Ohio, leaning against the fence. It was a golden- hour moment. And then again a few years later when we ran into one another in New York. The long walk. The Brooklyn Bridge. You told me you were getting married. There we were, each time, wordless in the turning of the world.

I write today, not at all sure where this will find you. It doesn’t matter much that you remember. Just know
That I do. I don’t interpret these as “missed opportunity” moments. More like “mutual witness” experiences that didn’t require a whole lot of discussion. We were small and so vast. “Getting” something big and beautiful without ever saying what it was. While I don’t so much want to go all the way back there in time, I do miss the big feeling of it all.

Love…

Dear Beth

I’ve loved your letters since we were kids. Thank you for this, after I think, what, 20 years at least? Your memory for detail is better than mine. I think I might have been a little more testosterone fueled than your reveries suggest. I was a hulk and a nerdy rock jock. I just remember how much I liked how you sang us through that trip. Maybe I saw you on that rock as a kind of tomboy mermaid siren. How’s that for an image!? Anyway. My sons are building another cabin on our land and I need to get out there to help. It’s been a good life. Sara would want me to say hello. From what little I see on my infrequent social media stalking, yours has been good too. Thanks for your letter.

Take Care…