She carefully folded the letter in thirds, sharply creasing the edges before slipping it inside of the plain white envelope. She peeled off the address label and affixed it to the front of the letter and slipped it inside of her purse, ready to be mailed first thing in the morning.

For the hundredth time, she wondered why she was doing this. She tried to find an adjective to describe her recent letter writing activity, but all she could come up with were words like desperate, pathetic and cowardly. She knew he didn’t want to hear from her, he had made that clear when he packed up and moved without even a goodbye. She got that, she did.  And she didn’t know what she’d say to him given the chance. How could you fix something as broken as they were? She knew she should move on and be happy with her newfound independence. She knew that.

But….

It was just that she missed him so damn much. She didn’t think anything could hurt more than calling off her wedding to Roy, but she was wrong. She literally ached with how much she missed seeing his smile…hearing his voice…just knowing he was there. The letters helped a little.

She knew he wasn’t reading them. He couldn’t be. She couldn’t bring herself to imagine that he was actually reading them because that would make his almost 6 month silence even more painful. Roz over in Stamford had told her they were censoring the mail there now, so she told herself that he wasn’t even getting the letters. In a way that made her feel bolder in what she wrote.

So why was she doing this? It was like sending a message out in a bottle, talking to your mirror, lighting a candle or tying a wish to a helium balloon. She had to get these things out of her before she went crazy and she couldn’t talk to him anymore. Maybe if all of these ideas were released into the universe, somehow they’d find a way to where they could make a difference. Maybe this would help her heal. Maybe it was like praying. She had a lot of maybe’s but that was better than a lot of never’s.

Because of those maybe’s she continued to put pen to paper.

 It was all she could do…write letters and hope.

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Dear Jim—

It’s me again. I hope that you are well. I’ve been wondering what you think about these letters that I’ve been sending you. I bet you wonder why I bother…why I care. You probably get a lot of letters like mine, bundled together in a little stack. I wonder what you think of them.

It must be so weird to have your life broadcast on television…to be water cooler conversation for thousands and thousands of people (I’ve checked the ratings…you’re doing pretty good). It must be hard trying to navigate a new chapter of your life knowing that people are watching and judging you. It must be more than hard (that’s what she said)…it must suck.

I thought that maybe since I know about you from television, I’d tell you a little something about me to even out the playing field. First, let me tell you something that I’ve never told anyone…not even my best friend. When I was in high-school I was really good friends with a girl named Dena. We were inseparable. We were like sisters (oops, now you know that I’m not a guy…that’s okay). We did everything together and assumed that we’d marry guys who were best friends and live next to each other and our kids would play together and you get the picture, right? Well, there was this guy. We both liked him a lot. He was a big deal at our school. He was captain of the football team and everything that goes with that. To make a long story short, I got the guy and I lost my friend. We fought and said a lot of things that we didn’t mean and then never talked to each other again. I’m no longer with that guy but I still miss the friendship I had with Dena. Friends dig out a place inside of you and when you lose them, it’s pretty damn hard to fill it with something new.

Friends fight. It happens, I know. Fights with friends hurt because they mean the most, right? I think what I learned from my experience back in high school is that It’s worth it to risk a little pride to apologize to a friend when you’ve fought because it will hurt even more if they disappear from your life.

I know your situation with Pam isn’t exactly the same because you had more on the line than friendship. But Jim…think about why you are keeping up this separation with Pam. Try to work up the courage to call her back again or drop her a line. I really believe you have something worth saving there. And yeah, I know it’s easy for me to say that to you and I realize that I could probably be giving the same little pep talk to Pam (…and how do you know that I haven’t?) but just think about it okay?

Here’s something else about me that I’ll share with you. I’ve recently made some huge changes in my life just like you.  I let go of a lot of things from my past that I was hanging onto just to hang onto. I moved. I started doing things I wanted to do and Jim…it’s amazing. I’m really, really proud of myself, Jim. I’m a different person than I was even six months ago. I had to go through some really crappy stuff to get to this place, but in a way, I’m glad for the bad times because they helped me get to where I am today.

Why am I telling you this? Do I expect you to say, “Good job, Biggest Fan. Way to go!” No, not exactly. Just, Jim…Pam’s been through some changes in her life too and I can bet she’s not the same girl you left last May. I’m wondering if things that she couldn’t do then are now things she can.

I should let you go. I’ve rambled on long enough. As always, it was great “talking” to you again. Stay well, Jim. Take care of yourself. Be happy.

Your Biggest Fan

P.S.  You could just send her an email. Think about it.

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He set the letter down, squared it in the center of his desk blotter. Everyone else was gone for the day…off for drinks at some nearby watering hole. He had stayed behind to read his latest installment of white-envelope letters.

The Camden postmark over the stamp only raised more questions. Who the hell was this? A nomad? A gypsy? A whole group of people?

Then there was another question: Why did he care so much?  

He was so confused about why these silly little letters affected him so deeply. Sure, they were friendly and pretty sane. They were well written and a little mysterious. They were, though, just fan letters. He had to think about them that way because if he imagined they came from anyone other than a stranger, he got angry and upset.

The letters seemed like they were from someone who knew him better than someone who just watched him on TV could. They were personal. They were familiar. That’s what bothered him so much. Why couldn’t the author pick up the phone and call him? Why did he have to be the one to initiate something. Why the need for the game? Why the mindfuck?

He needed answers and he needed to get to the bottom of this.

He had a pretty good idea where to start.  He opened up his email program and started typing.