A Twist of Things to Come

As you may know, a pipe burst in our house whilst we were in New Orleans over Spring Break. My brother-in-law found it and my father-in-law and good friend decon1313 came to the rescue and moved several sections of our bookshelves aside and dealt with the plumbing and flooring as best they could.

When the hubby came home Friday night (early Saturday morning) they moved the shelves back. We spent some time Saturday cleaning, sorting and re-shelving books and such. That done, I attempted to put the kitchen to rights, as it was no longer full of furniture and books. On the table I found a little pile of folded sheets of notebook paper.

That's not a big deal because Wee Boy has become a champion "Note to self" writer. There are usually at least three of these in his pocket at the end of every school day. They usually say things like "Play Little Big Planet with Cory" or "Remember to feed Bitey" (or dog), and sometimes designs for characters in his ongoing comics. Most of them are the sort of thing you'd find funny or charming. Occasionally there's something a little thrilling -- something that reminds me how scary-smart the wee monkey is. In any case, I always read them before I toss them, and occasionally keep a few to show him when he's older.

Among them, I found a different sort of note entirely. It had been torn from a spiral notebook, while the others are always loose paper. It was folded in eighths, and I noticed on one side in pen it read, "John C. would you give this to Libby (please)" in blue ink. Two things are wrong with that -- Wee Boy's notes are always in pencil, and his name is not Libby.

Mine is. Or was, to be more precise. It was a nickname I had growing up -- much of my family still calls me "Libby" on occasion. (I lost it when I went to college and everything said "Olivia." I was anxious to leave the past behind, so I discarded my old nickname like an itchy Christmas sweater.) I realized it must have fallen out of one of my books, but I had no recollection of who John C. might have been, so I read the whole thing, hoping it would jog a memory.

Libby,
Hi! What's up? not much, here. Write me sometime ok. [the ok is double underlined] I miss you & Love you.
I hope you will write me, so next time I will have something to say. OK [double-underlined, again] Well, I hope you feel ok & everything & that you are doing ok in school. I hope you have a Merry Christmas & Happy New Year [both holiday greetings are double-underlined] Well got to go.
Love Ya
Peggy Sue
P.S. -- write me please

There's an address in Proctorville, Ohio. I had no immediate idea how I would have met anyone from Ohio while I was still in school, other than summer camp, but there are two reasons I don't think that's it. It was a hand-delivered note probably written after Thanksgiving in whatever year it was, and the overwhelming majority of the summer camp kids were from Knoxville, TN and Charlotte, NC.

In any case, I have no idea who Peggy Sue was, or why she loved me. I'm certain I didn't write to her, because I was a horrible correspondent, in my youth. I'm only slightly better now.

I've come around to thinking she must have been someone's cousin who came to visit during the summer or perhaps the tag-along friend of someone's cousin, who then saw the cousin at a Thanksgiving thing and had him slip me a note.

The funny thing is, although I have no idea who Peggy Sue (or John C. for that matter) was, I feel quite guilty for not writing to her. She sounds like she needed a friend, and while I have always been quite outgoing with people in person, I pretty much never made any attempt to stay in touch, ever.

The second funny thing is, I remember conversations that occurred when I was six years old, verbatim, the combinations to every locker or campus mailbox I ever had, the names and faces of several kids I went AWANA Scholarship Camp with when I was ten, and many, many other parts of my past in nauseating detail. I am vaguely thrilled by the mystery. Peggy Sue has been tickling at the back of my brain, and I suspect she will come to me when I least expect it.

Not that it really matters now. ;)