The oddest email ever. From NB. NB, who was mostly just a face in the crowded highschool hallways; who I really only knew for that last summer after senior year. That's when we truly met. On a balmy July night when Maggie had a party and she was there. We found ourselves alone in the kitchen perched on tall stools talking about the planets. Seeing stars. Then I am suddenly hauled away by tripping friends for quick swimming excursion. Return later to find her passed out on the couch with the attendant drunken boys lurking about the room like hyena. Party's over. Head for home as Mitchell looms over her curled figure and performs a lecherous pantomime for cheap laughs.

She doesn't mention that night in the email, rather she recounts the details of August nights when we'd leave parties together, on a fast scooter down the winding roads that ran along the Sound. She wrote about being sad when I left for college, and I was too, but those were times when people moved on quickly, and we lost touch almost instantly and permanently. Her email picks up on a conversation that was rudely interrupted 13 years ago and I am very grateful for it. She says very thoughtful things that warm the heart. She also asks plenty of questions. She wonders where I've ended up.

There is some information about her online. Dartmouth, then NYU, then the NY Theaters. I read articles about her portrayal of Desdemona and a Village Voice review of her one-woman show where she changes shoes to portray 13 different characters. Her ancestors were the Dukes and Duchesses of Leuchtenberg.

I want to send her a worthy reply, something that isn't trite, but I find it very difficult to write.