Crackling like a campfire. That's just how I like my records to sound. 

Rubbing some aloe vera on the my peeling sunburn, I rifled through the scattered papers I pulled from a drawer. Big Mama Thornton's voice filled the stifling room while my leather jacket lay in a heap on the floor. 

Poor drawings, abandoned journal entries, Rosemary's artwork....

"What are you looking for?"

I looked up to see my mum standing in the open doorway dressed to impress with a coffee mug in her hand. My mind raced. I hadn't exactly told her I had been receiving letters from a possible admirer. Or...an old friend? I wasn't sure what we were by now. The letters had been coming less frequently as of late anyway.

"Just...a blank sheet of paper. I might write to Maude." 

"Oh. Well I just wanted to tell you I was going to the store. If you wanted to go."

I hadn't run out of milk yet. "No, I don't need to."

"Alright." She left me to my blues filled hunt. A few paper cuts later, I finally found them. Squashed behind a tattered philosophy book left over from my days at university. 

I really should get rid of that...

Sitting cross legged on my bed I started reading. Each letter brought various memories surfacing. Some of them regrettable. Many of them beautiful. My fists clenched the letters. 

I was angry at myself. 

Why didn't I write back to him? 

I pushed away the tears. No, you have no right to cry. Why didn't you write back to him? Were you afraid to look eager? Worried you were delegated to just another fan who sent in letters to melt in a sea of fanmail? Thought he might forget about you and stop writing altogether? 

Scared to get too close?

All of the above.

Getting too close only gets you hurt. If I attempted to keep in touch, what if he got bored of me? Realised I wasn't as exciting as he thought on tour, the fresh relationship gone stale with distance, fantasies disappearing in a puff of cigarette smoke, deciding I was "too clingy" and leaving my letters to the wind...

But he would never do that. 

Would he?

I never knew what to say anyway. How am I supposed to respond to the news of Bon getting struck by VD? If I had my way I'd send him a Get Well card. But that would be silly. 

Wouldn't it?

Stamps were getting expensive. Most of my earnings went towards my plane ticket and travel expenses. And what if he hadn't been home to receive them? Rotting in the crowded letterbox? What if they were intercepted? They're always so busy, there's no way he had time to read them and write back.

Bullshit. He consistently wrote to me and I bowed out. Excuses, excuses. No wonder he stopped writing a couple months ago. He got tired of waiting. 

I brushed my long hair out of my face. Played with the ends, twirling them in my fingers. 

You did it again. You let someone down. 

His last letter was short. Almost like he didn't have time to write everything he wanted to say. He always waited until he had a steady return address to write. I'd be leaving soon for London. A couple sheets of fresh paper sat in the drawer. A crusty pen floated on top. 

Big Mama Thornton's voice practically stopped time.

It's now or never, coward...

**********

That ought to do it. I looked over it once more to check for spelling errors and sheer stupidity. 

Ang,

I'm really sorry for not writing back. I should have made an attempt to keep in touch. I guess I didn't know if you wanted me to. But after the hundredth letter it should have been obvious. I'm sorry. 

I'm better now. From the tour, I mean. Traveling like that just isn't for me, I guess. I've missed you guys. It's been harder to sleep without Malcolm snoring in my ear. Or a tour bus driving on gravel. 

Give Bon a hug from me. After he's put on trousers, that is. I hope he feels better by now.

If you're too busy to write back, I understand. I know you're working all the time. 

I sort of miss you. 

Hannah

A little stick figure drawing stood in the corner of the paper. I sighed.

Pitiful. Absolutely pathetic. 

I almost crumpled it up and threw it in the rubbish where it belonged before starting a new one. But what could I change? Tell him I might still have feelings for him months after he sent his last letter, several more months after we parted ways? There's no way he didn't meet another woman and fall in love with her by now. He's the greatest man I ever met, he could get anybody.

And their dog. 

I suppose I could be a little more empathetic to Bon....

I wrote a speech bubble above the stick figure that said "Get Better, Bon". 

There. That ought to do it. Not silly in the slightest. 

Still pathetic, but it would have to do. I had to keep it simple. Something he could respond to in crunch time if need be. I folded it up and slipped it into its envelope cocoon. I found a measly set of stamps in my parents' closet and hoped I did the maths correctly. 

After slipping it in the letterbox and raising the flag, I tended to my garden. 

Almost time to harvest my squash.