I once had a friend. I was 17; he was 23. Six years difference isn't much now, but it felt like the world when I was 17. We had a deep connection. It wasn't physical. We never even kissed. I was away at boarding school and he was still back home. He wrote me emails and letters. I don't know where the letters went, but I found the emails today. I saved them on a computer I was about to sell.
I re-read the letters. They were often deep meaningful letters. Sometimes he was merely responding to an adolescent who was unsure how to act around guys, especially older ones.
In one email he talks about the time we sat in the park, sporadically talking, taking 3 to 5 minute breaks of silence. I still remember that day. I remember in those bouts of silence wanting to say something, but in my mind I was having a debate about whether to remain silent. He saw maturity where I was merely trying to
act mature.
His letter got more and more depressing. He was lost in a quarter-life crisis, and I didn't know how to respond. I was caught between liking him and feeling like the age gap was insurmountable. He was about to finish college and I was just about to start.
Professions of adoration and eventually love were in each of the emails. He put up with a neurotic teenager, barely ready to become an adult. I did love him. I do love him still. He was the first person in my life who I truly loved outside of my family.
I lost touch with him and can't find him now. Unfortunately he has a very common name. I want to know if he's alright. I want to find my friend and reach out with a hand of understanding, which is something I was incapable of when we were friends back then.
I miss David Crook.
Countdown to Freedom...
