Dear Nick,

We were buds in 3rd and 4th grade. My memory from those days is very patchy and primarily composed of “snapshots” from special events or mundane affairs. I remember the recreation of the Oregon Trail we did on the playground and I remember the Trail Blazers player talking to us about the tragedies in Rwanda. I also remember all the annual stuff like Scootertown, Field Day, and the Talent Show (we did a magic act together one year).

I’m sad we’ve grown apart and lost touch. You didn’t end up going to high school at Sunset and that probably was a major factor. Sometimes I think about you, and generically all the people from my past, and wonder how things are going for you now. What did you do in college? What do you do for a living now? Where do you live? Since I don’t have any answers, the only image I have of you is a blond, 9-year-old boy.

The purpose of this letter, although previously presumed to be a sappy trip through a rambling nostalgia forest, is actually to apologize. Remember when we did a cultural dance show? I do. We were partners during the Mexican Hat Dance and you had a very becoming wicker sombrero. I repeatedly flipped your hat off during the dance. For this I am truly sorry. I was a dick. Our whole class was in the show and our parents were there and I acted like a jerkface. You kept picking your hat up and trying to carry on with the dance, and I kept knocking it off. You must have been embarrassed, and I don’t know what was going through my head. I was oblivious to my surroundings and indifferent to your feelings.

I’d like to make it up to you. Hit me back with your present address and I’ll parcel-post a bunch of brownies to you. Do you like them gooey on the inside and chewy on the outside or cake-like on the inside and crunchy on the outside?

Your old friend,
Chris