Dear Misplaced People,

Do we all have lost folks in our lives? I don’t mean people who have died, literally everyone has those people, sooner or later (or become one themselves). No, I mean those people who are or were important enough in your life that you have fierce feelings towards them without really knowing who or what or where or why they are today. An event occurred recently that brought this to the forefront of my mind, and I’ve been kicking the notion around in my head for a few days now.

Sometimes it makes perfect sense that you lose touch with someone. Geographical changes, workload changes, new positions, marriages, children, finding out they don’t think The West Wing is one of the best shows to ever grace American television, these are all valid reasons for slowly drifting away from people you used to talk to all the time. But what about those people that just… disappeared? No real reason to stop speaking with them, no idea of when it was you didn’t think about it if you hadn’t heard from them in several days, no idea, even, of when the last time you spoke to them was. I’d like to write to a few of those people today. They’ll never see it, and I don’t necessarily need to track them down to show them, but I think it’ll be a worthwhile exercise for the psyche. Some closure, perhaps?

No. Not that.

Just some words to say that I still think about them, these Misplaced People in my life.

Dear [REDACTED],

There was that party downtown where we met, do you remember? I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the place. It was a wrap party, if I recall, for a high school play. You were friends with someone in the cast so you stayed with your dad that weekend to see it and hang out with her. I very clearly remember that we met when I got up to get a drink and asked if anyone else wanted one. No one but you spoke up and when I saw you there, previously hidden behind some random people I have no recollection of, I had that thing where my teenage heart stopped for a second. You asked for a Fruitopia and at the time this was not something to laugh about. It is now, of course, and I just did. You lived in Louisville so there was no real chance for a true relationship at that age. One of life’s first cruel jokes on me. We tried, though, for a few weeks and got to know one another fairly well. We bonded over divorced parents, shared disdain for all things “mainstream” which was, naturally, mainstream at the time, and shared some life hopes and dreams over the phone lines. I thought about you the other day and I hope my predictions for you are correct. You’re very likely a mother by now, and your kid is most likely wickedly intelligent and cute as the proverbial button. I imagine you’re married to someone really successful with a cool name like Rip or Aditya. You are probably a teacher, or in some role where you can share knowledge with the world. You’ve cut your red hair short, but sometimes you want to grow it out really long again. You don’t of course. Between the puppy I’m sure you have and the precocious kid, you know that’s a recipe for disaster. Also, I’ve decided that your husband is an amateur philanthropist who, lacking the riches of most philanthropists, simply spends his Saturdays walking around a park handing out $10 bills.

I could be completely wrong. You could be living in Ireland with black spiky hair, a nose ring, and a girlfriend that has IRA neck tattoos. But that’d be cool, too. So long as you’re happy.

Love,

Elijah

Dear [REDACTED],

Dude, what happened? We used to spend so much time arguing over whether or not the Dreamcast would be a real player in the console market (I’m sad I won that one), playing basketball or tennis, and eating at Cook Out at three in the morning. You were going to be in that wedding I almost had that time, and you insisted on wearing a tux on the day the wedding was to take place, while I was off drowning my sorrows and guilt in some run down bar. I feel like you really classed the joint up that day. You didn’t even make me pay for the security deposit on the thing when you sat down and the old drunk woman spilled her frozen margatinipolitan crap on you. That’s a big deal. I haven’t forgotten that day. Hope you’re well man. I know you are though. You’re one of those annoyingly successful people who could be dropped off in the middle of the desert and come back three days later with a new car and a nice tan. Jerk.

Love,

Elijah

Dear Rick,

How are your kids? I feel really bad that we drifted apart. We spent so much time together there, after you scare in the hospital, and the reunion with your family. After so much loss, it was heartening to know that there are still good men and women out there, working to survive and thrive in our crazy, fallen world. Hopefully I’ll be able to catch up with you and the two deputies again really soon. Work, life, the need to maintain a supply of fresh drinking water have just kept me busy. It’s a terrible excuse, I know. Please stay safe out there. Remember: there is no safe place, only safer. And cardio.

Love,

Elijah

So there you have it, Misplaced People, you’re not forgotten and you’re not really gone. You’re just… not here. Make sure you reach out to people you feel you’ve misplaced.

Love,

Elijah