Hi Chris,

How's Heaven doin'? I've been thinking about you tonight; feels like you're right here beside me. Hell, maybe you ARE! Okay, so assuming that indeed you are, let's talk like we used to back in the day.

It's been a long time since we talked. Remember how we used to talk, every day on the phone for hours? I got you through Geometry and Trig, and you used to say to me I should be teaching instead of Mr. Jenns; and I said, "NO WAY would I ever want to be a teacher!" Go figure huh. Me now here 23 years in the mathematics education profession and you the dead concert pianist looking down on me from heaven. Who would have ever thunk it?

I remember you used to practice for hours on that black baby grand in your parents lower level. What a love/hate relationship you had with that device. I admit I never quite understood what drove you to fight it with such passion. You tried to impart unto me, your beloved airhead friend, musical culture. I remember you talking about Dvorak and Debussay, and although I was familiar with Mozart, Beethoven and Bach, those "D" word guys were out of my league, so I just smiled at you and listened to your problems and loved you for who you were, even though I didn't fully understand you.

I guess to be honest I didn't fully understand myself back then either. Like WHY did I push myself mercilessly to get perfect scores in everything except gym class. Okay, forget about a perfect score in gym, we all knew those were reserved only for those Cro-Magnon girls who were really just guys in disguise. I understood that gym class was simply an academic liability that I made allowances for by taking Advanced Placement English to keep the ol' G.P.A. where it needed to be.

But I digress, excuse me. So can you tell me? Why? I mean why wasn't I out partying like everyone else, enjoying the carefree life of youth, getting high, laughing, falling in love etc.. What made me be 50 years old in a 16 year old body, the weight of the world on my shoulders and the salvation of mankind, or at least my family, my sole responsibility? Go figure? You can't tell me the answer to that I know, but I think you could empathize because you were the same way with your music. We were of like minds you and I. I'm sure that is why I'm talkin' to you now, even though you're dead. Great minds just think alike, and a small thing like death is never gonna change that.

Hey Chris, this is kinda fun, talking to you like this. It's making me feel a lot better actually. I may have to do this more often. I mean what are you gonna say, "No Sue, I don't feel like talking to you." We know that's not gonna happen -- so I don't care if the conversation is a bit one sided, pretty hard to get into trouble talking to a dead guy, right?

Trouble, you say, me-- well yes a wee bit, but I'll get to that later. Let's dispense at present with the much needed memorabilia amenities that seem pressing, considering our sixteen year communication lapse. Yeah, can you believe it's been SIXTEEN YEARS since we last talked. It was at that flower conservatory. We ran into each other totally by accident. I hadn't seen you since you played with that cellist at my wedding to dick bag. Man it must have been three years since I had seen you, because Adam was in his stroller and he wasn't born till I had been married for two years.

You were there listening to one of your star piano pupils give a solo performance, our eyes met and I almost didn't recognize you. Still chain smoking, a habit you know I had never approved of. We walked out to my car, Adam fell asleep, and we talked for about an hour. You told me about your loves, and your life, and your work helping AIDS victims get medical help. And I tried to tell you about dick bag. At that time though I still hadn't quite admitted to myself the full measure of my fucked up life, so I don't really know if I ever told you. And that's okay 'cause you had enough on your own plate. It sure was wonderful seeing you that day. I never dreamed it would be the last time. We were only what, twenty-eight years old? Man that's unfair. You sure got cut down early. But at least you didn't have to live to an old age full of cancer and pain or dementia. I guess there are plusses to dying young. But again I ramble on.

Where was I? Oh yes. Remember when my life totally changed? I fell off that stupid pony, hit that rock with my unhelmeted long blond tresses and cracked my head open. And all those people kept asking me what my name was, and what day it was, and who was the president of the United States, and lame stuff like that. I remember thinking, "Are these people stupid? I can't see their faces, but they sure are asking retarded questions." And of course there was the three day hospital stay and the neurologist telling me that my olfactory nerves had been severed and that I would never be able to smell with my nose again, and of all the five senses to lose that one was the least debilitating. And he was right. I love not being able to smell; it really helps you to eat stuff you would never have eaten before. You can also be nice to stinky people and to people with bad breath. You can treat them just like everyone else because you can't smell them. It is also a really big plus when changing baby diapers, cleaning up dog poop or mucking out horse stalls. Although you can't tell when your dick bag husband has been smoking pot or drinking alcohol, which was a bit of a minus I must admit. Overall though, I'd say that the plusses outweigh the minuses, especially since I don't have the dick bag husband any more. Yes, he's a gone pecan. It was a bit messy, but we did eventually find closure. Maybe I'll tell you about it in our next conversation.

Well, did you ever know that you were the only person who came to see me when I got home from the hospital. Yep, you were. I remember you told me years later how shity I looked and that I even smelled. Well that was because my crazy mother wouldn't let me take a bath. She said it might hurt my head more. I still fail to see the connection there, but I was in no shape to argue with her, so I just layed in that bed with a headache to stop a Mack Truck for about two weeks. Then one day I was better and back at high school and all was as before except several small things.

My ability to memorize was pretty much shot to hell, my powers of concentration were not too sharp either, and most markedly changed was my outlook on life. I found it hard to be totally serious all the time and I quite frankly no longer worried if all the world along with my family was going to hell. It was simply more than I could deal with and so I didn't deal with it. Life got better I would say, for a while. Remember I met Gary the body builder and had a LOT of fun, lost my virginity, tried pot with Bruce Northy, and was actually valedictorian of our class, who new that was coming, certainly not me. But then my dad came home and told my mom that he didn't love her and was leaving us to go live with the woman who he did love. Yeah that one did put a bit of a damper on my senior year.