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MONDAY, JUNE 18TH
It’s been twenty-four hours since you left. (Okay, twenty-three and a half.) It feels longer, though.
You’ve been away before. Sleepovers at your friends’ houses. A drama club field trip for three nights last spring. Even church sleepover camp when you were in middle school. I was seven then, and I remember going to the mailbox every single day to see if you’d sent me a postcard. You only sent one dinky card that whole time, though. It didn’t even have a picture of your camp on it, either, just a random picture of a sunset, with MAINE in big pink letters on the front.
The back was just as boring. I’d wanted to hear all about your new friends, about the new songs you’d been learning, and who snored at night. Instead I got messy handwriting and a jelly stain:
Camp is fun. The food is gross. Except for the s’mores. I could eat those forever.
You put a heart above the i in your name, like you did all through middle school. You thought it made you super cool.
I thought it did make you super cool.
I still have that postcard in my keepsake box in the back of my closet. It’s on top of the wreath of fake flowers I wore on my head for First Communion, the cross necklace Grandma left me in her will (and that Mom and Dad say is too special to ever wear), and the blue ribbon Maggie and I won at the science fair last fall.
Even if your postcard was only four lousy sentences, I still kept it. Because it meant you were thinking of me, even if only a little bit. That’s why I’m writing to you, too. I’ll write letters, though, which are way better than postcards. (Even if they don’t have cool pictures.)
Real letters. On stationery and everything.
(Okay, another reason I’m writing on paper is that Mom says Aunt Maureen doesn’t have cell access or Internet access on her farm. You’d probably get e-mails if she didn’t basically live in the olden days. It would be way better if you could get this right away and I didn’t have to wait a whole week for your answer.)
At least I finally get to use the stationery Aunt Megan got me for my birthday last year. Even if I’m totally not a “yellow and pink roses” kind of person.
Some of these letters might be short and some might be long. I’ll keep sending them, though, so you’ll know all about what’s going on while you’re away.
It must be lonely there.
Maybe I can keep you company.
Write back soon.
P.S. I miss you.
Copyright © 2018 by Jen Petro-Roy