Dear Mary

June 23, 1996

Mary Crofton, 380 Cooper Street

Ottawa, ON

Dear Mary,

I’ve just arrived in Gaines. It’s very late now, well past midnight, but I wanted to tell you about it. I wish I could call you, but they don’t even have phone lines up here. At least, not at this cottage.

The drive here wasn’t too bad, but you know how night driving always makes me anxious. It just feels so lonely, and the night feels so imposing. Just the piercing gaze of headlights cutting a slice through an endless dark, and me, at the centre of it, just following a line I trust will bring me somewhere. I remember you told me to see the other cars on the road like friends. That it seems like we’re all alone until we look around and see that there are other people on the road too. I hope that you and I are still on the same road.

I met my landlord outside when I got here. I think he's a nice guy. I'd say he's about 60-ish, long grey beard, and real thin, almost like he doesn't eat enough. We talked around the property after I arrived. He led me through everything the cabin had: a cast iron stove, a single bed, a small table, a few creaky cupboards, and this oddly ornate writing desk where I sit now. There were some books lying around when I got here. You’ve probably read (and told me about) most of these already, but I’m still excited. I’ll write up a list, and maybe you can tell me which ones are the good ones. I got the impression he's very proud of the property. He talked about it in a sheepish way, like he was afraid it wouldn’t be enough for me, but that only endeared me to him. He was also kind enough to leave an old typewriter as well, which is great, since it spares you the punishment of having to read my handwriting, so you’re welcome.

He asked me why I decided to move there from Ottawa. I told him I didn't have a good answer. I told him what I told my friends; that I was looking for a break, the city was getting suffocating, I wanted to be closer to nature, but I think he saw through that. He told me that sometimes people go places looking for things that can’t be found. I think that’s probably true. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’m sure that you’d have some choice words on the subject.

I do miss you, Mary. I left for a lot of reasons, but I hope that you don’t think that you’re one of them. I wish I’d been more honest to you before. I don’t think that I can be honest now, either. I know that’s not fair to you, and I know that saying that doesn’t make it hurt any less, nor does it make me any less the one that hurt you. I thought I was brave, but I’m literally hiding the woods now, so I guess that ship has sailed.

I hope that you read this, but if you don’t want to, I won’t send any more to you directly. I’ll mail the rest of these back to my place in Ottawa, and you can pick them up there if you want.

With regards,

Ethan