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Dear Cindy:

Dear Cindy:

I wish I had been better at keeping in touch. Ours was always sort of a friendship of convenience, in a way, and I guess trying to maintain it just became too inconvenient. I still would try again, if I could. I just don't know where to look for you.

I suppose I must have met you in first or second grade, because I remember that we were always in the same reading group. In fact, I think at least one year they brought you in from another classroom for reading. My early memories of you are all from fourth grade, though. It was the year you had the Monkees fan club, which I never understood. And that was the year you were Cindy-Puppy-Dog. I don't remember why, or how. I do remember I tied you to my desk with a jumprope at recess, and both of us thought it was a good idea.

After two years in separate schools, we met again in junior high. At that point, just having someone to sit with on the bus was enough. And in eighth grade, we became a Fearsome Foursome with Tiffany and Bethanie. We had umpteen sleepovers.

When the pangs of adolescence forced that to fall apart, I was lucky enough to not lose your friendship. I think it was probably being friends with you that turned me into a band groupie, and goodness knows that certainly changed me. I hope the politics of our senior year didn't make things too hard for you.

I didn't swear you off the way I did most of our home town. In fact, we traded visits at college, since your spring break and mine were consecutive weeks. And we were in touch a little longer than that. But when you left school, and I got involved at mine, somehow I ran out of time. And while I did have brunch with you once when I was home, I never made the effort after that.

It's a shame, because I think we might well have more in common now than we ever did growing up. But I don't know where to find you, and I'd be no better now, if you still don't use email.