May 1998

Caitlin

SEVENTH-GRADE SPRING WAS RIDICULOUSLY busy, and dramatic—Drew asked me out again in December and then we broke up on New Year’s Eve. I wanted to start 1998 fresh—and that meant dating Brennan. He and I were together for less than a month when Christa told me that she liked him, too. That was tricky. By then, Christa was my best friend. Lauren and I were in a fight—she gave me back the Best part of our friendship necklace. Then Christa and I went to the mall and bought a new necklace, together. Then Christa got so mad at me for dating Brennan that she gave me back the Friend part of our necklace. So I was without a best friend, but still dating Brennan. I was torn—I really liked Brennan, but he wasn’t worth losing a best friend over. I broke up with him and he started dating Christa! I couldn’t believe she said yes! I was so upset that I didn’t invite her to my thirteenth birthday, on March 28. It was a Saturday, so I had a party and all my friends came—except Christa. Lauren and I were back to being best friends. I had six different best friends that spring, at different times and for different reasons. It was hard to keep straight. At least there was one constant in my life: Martin.

He kept writing. Most of the other students in my English class had stopped corresponding with their pen pals after two or three letters, but by the end of seventh grade, I had at least six letters from Martin. I kept them all in my desk drawer. In the early ones, he’d ask simple questions, like What’s your favorite music? and What does your house look like? But in the last letter he sent me, he asked how much it cost to go to school. I figured he did not realize I was in public school—and I wondered if he would think differently of me as a result. I hoped not.

In that same letter, he said his dad worked at a paper mill. I wasn’t sure what that was, or if we even had them in the United States. I bought all my stationery at Staples. And I did notice that while my stationery was either a pristine white with pale blue lines through it or pink with decorative edges, Martin’s was always different. Some letters were written on grainy gray paper; some were written on the back of homework assignments. Sometimes he wrote in pen; other times in pencil. But his penmanship was constant—a bubbly cursive. He always curled the tip of his h’s, and his z’s looked like chubby 3s. His letters always put me in the best mood. They were often funny, too.

I had heard monkeys lived in the trees in Africa and asked him if that was true. He wrote back that there were lots of monkeys living in Mutare, and that he actually got into a fight with one once. Monkeys are really nasty, he wrote, which made me so sad, because I had wanted a pet monkey for the longest time. He said there were more baboons than monkeys in his hometown, and everyone considered them a nuisance. I think our baboons are like your squirrels, he wrote. In my response, I wrote that many people in the US thought squirrels were annoying, but I actually loved them—that’s because I loved all animals.

At the time, I had a pet rabbit called Louis. I got him in sixth grade. He had long, floppy ears that bounced off the ground when he hopped. Louis was so attached to me that one day he followed me out the door to go visit Heather, my best friend and neighbor. It was the sweetest thing! He started following me all over the neighborhood. My mom put a little bell on his collar so we always knew where he was, which was unnecessary because he never left my side. He became our neighborhood mascot. When I played kick ball in the street, he’d run whenever I ran. The only time it was a problem was when we played flashlight tag. Everyone always knew where I was, because Louis’s bell would ring. I told Martin about Louis, expecting him to tell me about his pets. Instead, he wrote, The story of your rabbit is very amusing indeed! In Zimbabwe, we eat rabbits! They are quite delicious!

I was so horrified, I didn’t know how to respond, so I put that letter aside and then got so swept up with life. When I finally sat down to write him back several weeks later, I made a point not to mention Louis.

I ended with: If you could please send me a new picture of you so I can show my friends how nice you are! You are the best pen pal that I have ever had. Again, I am so sorry for not writing back right away! Thank you for being a great friend. Best of friends.

Before I sealed up the envelope, I remembered that in all my crazy drama, I forgot Martin’s birthday, which was three weeks before mine. I also remembered that I wanted to send him a Reebok T-shirt—his birthday was the perfect reason.

I called Lauren to see if she wanted to go shopping later that afternoon. My mom drove us to a discount store in town called Ross, where I found a white shirt with blue trim that had REEBOK across the front in matching navy blue. Perfect, I thought.

As I was paying for it, Lauren asked, “Caitlin, are you like in love with Martin?”

The question caught me off guard, and was hard to answer.

“I love him like a brother,” I said finally.

“Ew,” she said. “That’s like incest.”

“You know what I mean!” I said, swatting at her. “He feels like a member of my family.”

Back home, I wrapped the shirt and attached a note that read, This is what all the cool kids in Hatfield wear.