I’ve been meaning to write this for quite some time. The last letter I wrote to you was in 1977. Remember? I told you that hilariously funny joke about how you always wore purple socks. That was so funny. I was hoping you’d be so intrigued that you’d want to meet me and invite me onto the Donny & Marie Show, but I guess it didn’t work out. I know how busy you were back then. You had legions of fans and here I was, an eight-year-old girl.
I had the whole thing planned out though; I even had my outfit picked out. I knew I definitely wouldn’t wear one of those long sequined dresses like Marie and all your other guests. Instead, I would’ve have worn my best jeans, a purple turtleneck, a preppy ribbon belt with purple flowers and, of course, matching purple socks. Of course you would have been struck by my casual beauty, but my dance performance would have really revealed my special, poetic soul. The lights would fade slowly as the music started: “When the deep purple falls over sleepy garden walls, And the stars begin to twinkle in the sky…” I had a carefully planned dance routine with leg kicks, axles, gymnastics and pretty arm flourishes that I had learned in ballet. I practiced every night in my room with the 45. It was a little embarrassing when my brother walked in, but I was determined to impress you with how graceful I was.
I suppose our relationship would’ve been brief. I hadn’t really thought through how it would work, but I had a vague idea that we would kiss and maybe move our heads around just the way they did on the Love Boat and Fantasy Island…
Anyway, a lot of the other girls at school started liking Eric Estrada, the boy from Eight is Enough and Rick Springfield, but I remained true to us. Dr. Blakely told me that I had to let go, but I never did. My love was so strong that I had to go away for a little while, but I’m much better now. I live in a small house in northern Utah now and I work from home. I have my own taxidermy studio in a cabin out back and I spend a lot of time in front of the computer or out finding small animals. So you still live in Salt Lake City? I get into the big city every so often now that I have discovered freganism. There are some great dumpsters between East South Temple and University Boulevard.
Anyway, I never got married. I know, huh? I heard you married Debbie of course. By the way, she threw out a perfectly good loaf of wheat bread last week. There were only two green pieces! It’s too bad about your cat being missing. I read the notices your grandchildren made and it looked like Mittens’ pelt was really soft. So maybe we could get together sometime. Isn’t it OK for Mormons to marry other people? If not, maybe we could just dance or hold hands and sing or something. I’ll be on University Boulevard next Tuesday morning. Remember, “In the mist of a memory you wander back to me, Breathing my name with a sigh…”
Willow Creek Health Center