The Crazy Things I Do After Midnight ...

Here's a copy of an email I just sent. I think I'm a little stunned I actually did send it.

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Subject: Did you get on a train in Sackville, NB, in the mid-80s?

Hello,

Please pardon this intrusion (and the odd subject-line -- I just didn't want you to think this was a thinly-disguised Viagra or mortgage ad). I can't actually believe that I'm sitting here writing this email, but it's nearly two in the morning here and I tend to get a little impulsive as the night wears on. So please bear with me. *grin*

Unable to sleep tonight, I decided to sort through some papers and things in a box that probably hasn't been opened in at least ten years (probably closer to 20, truth be told). Inside I found a postcard of Jasper, Alberta, and was hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia and a teensy bit of guilt.

Sometime in the mid-80s, I was travelling on a train from Halifax, Nova Scotia, to Saint John, New Brunswick. The train stopped at Sackville, New Brunswick, home of Mount Allison University, and a young guy named [DL] got on. (I would've been 17 or so, and I think he was a couple of years older than me.) Anyway, we struck up a conversation (I believe he seemed to have a British accent), and by the time we got to Moncton, we were talking as if we'd always known each other. (I remember a lot of details, but not about the conversation itself.)

At the station in Moncton, [D] hopped off during the stop to head to a newsstand, and when he returned, he had a copy of OMNI with him. We talked the entire way to Saint John, and when the train pulled into my destination, I was a bit saddened to have to say goodbye. [D] got off the train with me and said goodbye on the platform, saying something about me looking "morose", and promised he'd write me a letter.

Over the course of the following 18 months or so, [D] did write me a few letters, sent a card during the holidays, and sent a few postcards from when he was working out west (Jasper, obviously, and perhaps Lake Louise?). Unfortunately, I let the gap between the last postcard and my return letter grow too long (hence the aforementioned guilt) and by the time I replied, it was too late. He was already gone and we'd lost touch.

I've thought of [D] off and on over the years, and I've always felt badly about letting things lapse. He was a very interesting person to talk to, and I'd always appreciated the fact that he did make the effort to stay in touch. In spite of the fact that I'd only really spent about four hours with him, I considered him a friend. I guess that's probably part of the reason I held onto the postcards (or at least this one) through eight or nine moves since then.

So here it is, two in the morning, and I stumbled across this postcard, and I start wondering whatever happened to [DL]. And since it is two in the morning, and I have more caffeine than sense, I thought, "What the heck -- I'll Google the name and see what happens." [Note to blog-readers: It's a rather unusual name.] So I did, and I found your address and thought, "Well, if someone read OMNI magazine, industrial design and architecture, then multimedia design is kind of a good fit. I wonder if it's him." So here I am, and here's an email from left field to see if you happen to be the same [DL] I lost touch with somewhere around 1988.

Incidentally, if it turns out that it was you, but you don't remember me, that's okay too. I'll still have the postcard, and I can stop feeling the twinge of guilt, knowing I tried. Besides, part of me will just be happy knowing "whatever happened to...".

Hope to hear from you, one way or another.

Thanks,

[signed, complete with maiden name in parentheses]

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You know, readers, I really think there are times when I need adult supervision. *grin*