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Even now, all these years later, I still read them—Conrad's letters to me when I was studying abroad in Spain. Just every once in a while, I pull them all out and sit down and read each one. I know them all by heart, but they still touch me, they still make me feel it all over again. ... To think that once we were both very young, and very far apart, and still finding our way back to each other.
Dear Belly,
Firstly—I don't even know if I should be writing you, if this is allowed. I hope it's allowed. I hope you don't throw this away without even opening the box—because if you do, you'll miss out on something very important. Okay, fine, something that was once very important. TO you.
I went over to your house to fix your mom's computer. I went into your room to use the printer and I saw Junior Mint sitting on the bookshelf, looking incredibly pathetic. Remember him? Polar bear, wears glasses and a very stylish scarf? I won him for you at the ring toss? Do you remember how you used to go over to the ring toss and just stare at the polar bears because you wanted one so bad? I probably spent thirty or forty bucks trying to win you that damn bear.
Apparently, he misses you irrespective of that fact that you left him behind. He feels lost without you. I'm serious, that's what he told me. Pathetic, right?
So here he is. Be nice to him, will you?
Conrad
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Dear Belly,
This is weird, writing you like this. I think the last time I wrote someone an actual letter was a thank-you card to my grandma. For graduation money, I think. My mom was big on thankyou cards. Oh, by the way, you're welcome for Junior Mint. Laur told me you said thanks. Geez, I was hoping for a thank-you card, but I guess we can' all be as polite as me. Haha.
I should be working on biochem, but I'd rather be talking to you. Laurel says your Spanish is getting better. She told me you got lost the other day trying to hunt down a pack of Sour Patch Kids. Sour Patch Kids? Really? You're too grown-up for Junior Mint but not for Sour Patch Kids, huh?
Here's the biggest bag I could find. It's economy sized. The next time I see you, I'm sure you'll be toothless. But happy. I really do hope you're happy.
Conrad
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Dear Belly,
So far I've written you two letters and you've written me—well, none. ... Which is fine. Go ahead and feel free not to write me back. Seriously, don't feel obligated or anything. Even though I've sent you two handwritten letters and two gifts. ... But seriously, don't write back. I'm serious. It's better this way. I like hearing my news secondhand, from Laur.
Speaking of news, she told me you met some Spanish guy named Benito, and he rides around on a scooter. Really, Belly? A guy named Benito with a scooter? He probably wears leather pants and has a long stringy ponytail. I don't even want to know. Don't tell me. He probably looks like a model and weighs 100 pounds and writes you poetry in Spanish. I don't know what you see in a guy like that, but I don't know what you ever saw in me either, so I guess there's no accounting for taste, right?
Don't forget—don ' write back.
Conrad
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Dear Belly,
You didn't write back. I thought for sure you would, you used to be so bad at following directions, now look at you. ... Kidding. Actually I'm not—remember that time you tried to make box potatoes au gratin and you forgot to put in the cheese?
Speaking of potatoes au gratin, your mom made some for Thanksgiving. Laurel invited us to dinner—my dad and Jere and me. I wasn't sure if Jere would come, but he did. It was awkward as hell. But then Steven put on football and we all just sat and watched and it was better. During the half, Jere asked if I'd heard from you, and I said no. He said you'd been chatting online. He said you cut your hair shorter, that it makes you look older, more mature. Then Laur showed us pictures of when she came to visit you. I want to go there some day. I heard you aren't hanging out with that guy Benito anymore. Don't say I didn't warn you. ...
By the way, it looks good. Your hair. I don't think it makes you look older, though. Younger, if anything.
I might as well be completely honest here, because who even knows if you're reading this ... you might have thrown it out without opening it, which is your right. But I'll go ahead and say it—it killed me a little that Jere's seen you, talked to you.
But I don't think he hates me anymore, which is the important thing.
Also—in case I haven't made it clear ... I think about you a lot. You're pretty much all I think about. Just so we're clear.
Conrad
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Dear Belly,
It's Christmas here. I guess it's Christmas where you are too. I went to the summerhouse for a few days. I kept thinking I'd turn around and see you—stuffing your face with chocolate pretzels, or sliding around the downstairs living room in those god-awful mistletoe pajama pants. I bet my mom bought them for you. She used to buy Jere and me matching Christmas sweaters. There's one horrible family portrait of all of us in red button-downs and reindeer bowties. It's basically a blight on humanity. I hid it in the attic one night and no one's seen it since. If you've been a very good girl this year, maybe I'll show you when you come back. My gift to you.
You know what you could give me? A letter back. Hell, I'll even take a postcard. Or an email. Anything. I just want to hear from you. I want to know how you're doing. By the time you get this, Christmas will have passed—I hope it was a nice one.
Merry Christmas, Belly. Remember last year? Me and you at the summerhouse? Best Christmas of my life.
Love,
Conrad
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Dear Conrad,
When I come home next spring, you'd better show me that family portrait. Don't you dare try to get out of it. Oh, and I'Il be taking it with me, since it's my gift and all.
And yes. I do remember. Of course I remember. It was my best Christmas, too. Write back soon,
Belly
For years he kept it in his wallet, soft and creased into a million little folds. He said it kept him going. Kept him hoping. He said he wanted to keep it with him always, but I said we should keep the letters together, where they belong. And he did show me the family photo. It's hanging up in our living room.