re: the muppets (part two)

I'm in the middle of telling a story. And it's a long one so I'm chopping it up and publishing it over the next few weeks. It's a bit confessional (and like I said, long!) so I thank you in advance for indulging me. Please click here for Part One.

~ Part Two ~

I debated whether I should respond to the email beyond a polite, "You're welcome." At the risk of seeming immodest, I had developed a wee following among theater-mad teenagers who envied my proximity to NYC, my then job in the entertainment industry (however sucky and lacking in prestige it was) and my ability to turn a quick, witty phrase in chat rooms and on Instant Messenger. Frankly, I was feeling a bit burdened by my teenage fanclub (totally intentional reference) and wasn't sure I wanted to expand its membership.

But I reread the email. And I couldn't help but reply. Its friendly, innocent, sweet and sincere tone dissolved my skepticism. So I responded with a brief biographical sketch and then some additional info about my family, my job and my desire to be a Tony-winning playwright.

Given her musical theater aspirations and her desire to be NYC-bound after college, she found me instantly cool. She had a ton of questions about me. She had endless enthusiasm for me and all details about my life. Yet she wasn't invasive or annoying. I answered them with uncharacteristic candor and ease.

She wrote to me every day, several times a day. She pinged me whenever I signed on to AOL and we chatted for hours. I was charmed and disarmed by this little girl. She was my polar opposite -- emotionally open, demonstrative and completely trusting of me, someone she barely knew. Despite our apparent differences and the short time we'd been talking, I felt so comfortable with her.

So I began to let her in.

At last, I wasn't invisible. I mattered to someone. My appearance on her Buddy List made her day. She told me as much. I wasn't used to someone being so carefree with such personal admissions. She wasn't self-aware in the slightest. If she felt something, she said it. Without a hint of hesitation, embarrassment or apology. Again, totally unlike me.

I grew to look forward to my chats with my adoring Okie girl. I knew part of my appeal lay in things I couldn't really take credit for -- location and age (I was six years older). I was aware of the pedestal she put me on but never let it go to my head. I was honored to be elevated to that status and I cherished it. And what's more, I reached out my hand and hoisted her right up there with me. I was equally taken with her. Sight unseen and from across the miles.

"What's your address? I have some goofy pictures I want to send you of me and Bernadette. She looks scared of me in some of them, I think. It's hilarious. Plus you get to see what I look like..."

Uh oh. If she sent me pictures, she'd want photos of me in return. What if she thought I was ugly? For the first time in her "presence," I felt self-conscious. Up until this point, I felt like a fucking rock star, a far cry from the unattractive, invisible loser I considered myself in my "other" life.

Mind you, there was nothing romantic or sexual about any of this. She wasn't a boy in a bar I was trying to impress. We were pen pals, plain and simple. But still, she had a high opinion of me so far and I didn't want to disappoint her.

I was totally nervous but I obliged. She was my warm, open and caring little girl, after all. If nothing else, she'd at least be polite if she thought I was gross. So I gave her my address. I was scared but at the same time, I was eager to put a face with her amazing personality.

As expected, she asked if I wouldn't mind sending a photo as well. She was chomping at the bit to see her "cool grown-up friend in Jersey." My heart was racing but I agreed. Once I got her address, I took out some stationery and wrote a funny letter and included a wallet-sized college yearbook photo. I actually gulped and silently said, "Well, here goes" when I dropped the letter in the mailbox the next day.

Her letter arrived a day or two later while mine was still en route to Oklahoma.

The envelope was purple and youthful-looking and the handwriting was large and a bit bombastic with its loops and slants. I immediately ran my fingers over the lettering.

I found myself staring at the envelope for a few minutes, almost scared to open it. I couldn't quite understand my fascination with this little girl or the effect she had on me. It was like I knew I would be opening up much more than a letter in that moment.

I felt it in my hands. The middle of the envelope was a bit stiff confirming that I now had photographic evidence of this wonderful soul I had so fortunately stumbled upon.

I took a deep breath and gingerly opened the envelope.

>> Go to Part Three

-- Part One