Letter from Theresa, March 12, 1986. Back of envelope covered with Doors lyrics - "You know the day destroys the night, Night divides the day, Try to run try to hide, Break on through to the other side." "Just sittin listenin to The Doors!" "Let me sleep all night in your soul."

A painful letter. They got in a big fight and he broke two of her ribs. She went up north to get away, but is back now. She loves him. But she feels stuck. And I think she knows in her heart that she can't stay with a man who broke two of her ribs. Of course, my little brother stayed with the woman who stabbed him 27 times, and they are very happy, and it truly has not happened again. But then, if it had, would he have been as lucky?

She hints about coming out to be my roommate. I vaguely remember this. I couldn't help her. I think I wouldn't help her, to tell the truth. I was afraid of mixing myself up with the stuff I had run away from myownself. She gave me a number to call collect. I hope I did. Just to talk. I don't think I did. I think I ran. "Learn to forget, learn to forget, learn to forget..."

Letter from the almost ex-girlfriend of G, who was also a friend of mine, and one of the reasons I did not get on that plane. To my discredit, it is one of the minor reasons - but a reason nevertheless. She had taken all of my leftover books, and, in some weird twist of fate, mentions a Michael Brown who bought nearly all of them for his new used book store. (This can't be the Wm. mentioned earlier????) The weird twist of fate comes in years later, when my latest ngb, one Michael Brown, comes on the scene. An extremely common name, seems like. Once he (the new MB) took me to the emergency room with a smashed toe, and the DOCTOR was named Michael Brown. So it goes.

And so it goes in Green Bay on 12/12/85: "....bitterly cold here and there is already 20+ inches of snow fallen, in one day, we had 16 or more inches - I walked down the middle of the streeet in the snowstorm on that Sunday afternoon to the liquor store and bought myself a six pack and a bottle of wine...[G] wasn't answering his phone, and there were 4 to 5 feet drifts in my driveway, with no city buses and barely any taxis running. I felt as though I had been imprisoned so I got drunk and laid around."

Postcard dated 15 November. The Mayo Building. Of Mayo Clinic fame. Doug, Theresa, and someone else are there about someone's shoulder and knee. I think it's Theresa's. I seem to remember a problem. No clue about problem. No memory. Just little memory shadows.

Another mystery. A postcard of Lambeau Field, in Green Bay, with a full stadium and a game in progress. At night. Written about a week after I left. By someone signing himself (and it is a himself), Wm.

I have no clue.

There are clues, but they don't help.

"Dear Barb,

"We're welling, slowly. Being Mr. Mom gets to me after awhile - I never played with dolls. Fall is cool is here - we can close our door to closing time at Uncle Rays. [only real clue - he's someone who went to Uncle Rays, my favorite biker bar].

"I'm missing yr. household as a visiting spot and you as a bright and feree spirit. Bought yr. Oxford History of U.S. ??? and Annals as a gift for my 16-yr.-old. Passing On.

"Love Wm."

Okay, so I had an "everything for sale"party before I left, and someone took the leftover books to sell for me. So, who the hell had a 16 year old who would appreciate my Oxford Histories??? And someone used to visit someone at my house???

Like you would know.

Letters from Linda - the woman in prison for heroin. Dated September 1, 1985. She says I told her I was leaving for Seattle on the 14th, so now I know when I left. There are two letters tucked into one - and the second one was written from a halfway house in Milwaukee. She's getting her cosmetology license. She's coming home soon, but I will miss her. I'm leaving the 14th.

She gives me her boyfriend's address - her new boyfriend, not the one she was busted for heroin with. I just looked up his name in Green Bay and found two of them. I wonder if they ever married. I wonder if she's all right. If they had a good life, finally. I can only hope.

And a short note from the ngb's mother, who is in Arizona with her husband for the winter. All I remember is that they were very nice people, entirely unlike what one might expect for the parents of a crazy little biker type. They did say they had to tie him to a tree with a leash when he was little to keep him from killing himself doing something daredevil stupid! As she signs the letter, I remember now that her name was Storm.