I was driving home from work today, and the song "Long December" by the Counting Crows came on the radio. Suddenly I thought of you. I'm not entirely sure why. I never really associated you with that song--I think it was more that I was trying to figure out how many years it had been since Counting Crows released it. I think it's been two, maybe three years. Anyway, as I thought about how many times I had listened to that song, I started thinking about where I was back in 1996-the year I met you.

The memories started coming back in a flood--really, it was like a flashback in a movie where they show all the scenes in that soft, muted light. I thought of you, of our history together. I can't remember the first exact time I met you, but I know that it was sometime in early 1996, in the yDrive forum. I don't even know how we started talking a lot, but somehow we did. Maybe it was in May or June when you told me that you and your parents were going to visit Boston sometime that summer and would I like to meet up with you in the city? We talked a lot that summer, I remember. You were my best friend--I felt like I could tell you anything in the world. You made me feel wonderful, like I was pretty, like I mattered.

Usually my memories of days past are pretty sketchy but I remember almost everything about the day we met. It was in August of 96. As soon as you got into your hotel, you rang me up. My sister answered the phone and handed it to me with a confused look, saying "I have no idea what he just said... All I heard was 'Meghan.'" I was puzzled--I didn't know who it was. I picked up the phone and said "Hello?" and you said "Meghan? It's Pete!" We talked for HOURS. Remember? I think I ate dinner in the middle of it, that's how long we talked. I don't even know what we talked about... just everything under the sun. We agreed to meet up that Sunday at noon in front of your hotel.

We met up at your hotel (I didn't know you had red hair!) and we went to the Boston Aquarium. You were afraid to cross the street, because Boston drivers are scary and no one pays attention to the traffic signals. We talked by the giant fish tank for hours. You gave me a tape of British music because you said my taste in music was shit. I ate dinner with you and your parents, who were lovely, although I thought it was funny that your mom didn't know what any of the fruits were. You were so charming, so cute and British. I loved your accent--I even got used to it and understood almost everything you said.

When you dropped me off at the train, you hugged me and said the strangest thing--"I'll never see you again." I told you not to be silly, but maybe you just somehow knew.

For the next year or so, we were so tight. We both actually managed a few transatlantic calls. You called me up piss-ass drunk once, speaking in whispers so your parents wouldn't hear you call America. Do you remember that night? You told me you loved me. I believed it.. I loved you back. I didn't know if you meant it romantically or just platonically.. but can you blame me for believing what I wanted to believe? I DID love you. You were one of my best friends, even if you did live 5000 miles away.

You did so much for me. You opened my eyes up to a whole new world of music--I would have never heard of Blur or Pulp or any of those other bands had it not been for you. You made me feel good about myself, you put a smile on my face. I loved getting emails from you because they were always so funny and entertaining.

Then... somehow... it was all gone. I don't even remember distinctly when it was. I remember telling you where I wanted to go for college, but I'm not sure I told you where I got accepted and where I was going. I don't really remember where you said you were going for university--somewhere north of you,that started with an L, and that wasn't Liverpool. How did we lose touch?

How did we have so much that just faded away?

I still have that tape you made me. It's three years old, but it still plays pretty well.

Maybe I was putting too much into it--maybe you didn't feel the same way. Maybe you were just being polite. I know that you were always horrible about emailing back, and I didn't take it as an insult, but then the emails stopped completely, probably for good. Your old email address doesn't work anymore. I used to have every conversation that we ever had saved, but I lost them in the transition to my new computer. Perhaps it's just as well--I can't really dwell on the past as much then. But everytime I think about my plans for studying in London next year I think of you.

I wrote you a letter this past summer at your home address, but you never responded. Maybe you never got it, or maybe you did and you just don't wish to contact me anymore. And that's okay. I can respect that. But Pete, if on the small, slight chance that you come across this letter, please know that I would still love to get in touch with you again. If not, then... I guess this is goodbye.

Meghan