It was a warm and slightly vibrant day. We had a 4-H meeting at the Phil brick's after school so it was one of those RARE days that I was unable to confiscate the mail ahead of any one else in my family. After the meeting and immediately upon returning home, I checked the pile envelopes upon the table. Mom was not hesitant at all in asking "who is this person?". And I don’t remember my answer. I do know that after I had indulged its contents, I handed it back to her to read. God, it was read! And, at 14 years of age...my zest for life was renewed; little did I begin to thoroughly comprehend that in 20 years (now it is 28) this one letter would become the light at the end of some very dark and scary tunnels. It has held firmly and securely with all of our passions....
His name is Mark and mine is Rachel; I have saved all of his letters (although now that e-mail daily I can't SAVE them all); the written story of his life, the exalting joys and the deepest sorrows. Over the 29 years we have been writing both the context and the contents have changed immensely. The first of them were initially written about the old soap opera
Our perception of each other formed rapidly and it was only a few months before we were exchanging news at least twice a week. We sought each other’s advice, discussed world affairs and dreamed together. The details were composed on a large assortment of mostly, non-traditional writing paper: pages torn from current magazines, which helped in portraying our current mood, used cash register receipts and left over wall-paper samples which were often cut into varying shapes and sizes. We would make our own envelopes. At this time, I had no REAL idea how vital, to my own survival...and his...this outlet was. We could be ourselves, not only transposing our positive emotions onto paper but also any fears (both founded and unfounded). It became a solid foundation for some intense journal writing and of other tragedies that I thought I had written about some other tortured child. This correspondence provided us with a comfort zone which, if we had lived next door to each other, would never been expressed or exposed. We had each found a confidant who would faithfully listen and gave the other permission just to be. DARK SHADOWS.
