Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Regrets: Am I out there?

Way back in that life that doesn' t belong to me anymore, I came back home to Lubbock from visiting my folks to find that someone had broken into our house. This lovely person had broken in through our baby son's window and smoked several Marlboro's while choosing what things were of interest to him. My wedding set knives, a camera, jewelry boxes, my curling iron, 7 rolls of undeveloped film from my son's first year of life, my wedding album, my high school annuals, my junior high yearbooks, my scrapbooks from elementary and Rainbow Girls, and my family picture album. Now I should note that he did leave behind my son's baby book. All of these albums were collected from various parts of the house. Some were taken from a chest underneath my son's crib. Some from inside cabinets. Some from our bedroom. Some from the living room. We were in college at the time so we were really slim pickins but he managed to carry away about 10 years of my memories during his visit. Now you might be asking why I refer to our burglar as a he? Funny thing is that about two months and a residence change later, I got a cute letter from an inmate at a prison in New Mexico. He had seen my picture in Texas Tech's yearbook and thought I was a real sweetheart. He described his Fraternity days at SMU, drew me funny little pictures of himself as an inmate with his Greek letters on the pocket instead of his inmate numbers and invited me to keep him company via our correspondence. Did I write him back? Oh yeah. Played it stupid to get more info about him but kept getting more cutesy letters talking about his time in prison for a crime that he wouldn't even have been put in jail for in Texas. After those couple of letters, my heebie jeebies got the best of me and my correspondence with my prison buddy came to a halt from my side. I just threw away his letters without opening them and shortly afterwards I left Lubbock for good. Goodbye marriage, goodbye Lubbock. Good Riddance. If I spent time mooning over every object that got lost, stolen or destroyed, I would howl at the moon every month. It's gone and I can't change it. But I do regret not following up on that inmate. I wish I had contacted the prison officials or the detective who investigated the robbery or something. There is ten years of ME out there somewhere and I don't want it back. I hope that stuff has long been thrown away. But that stuff is a heebie jeebie that I can't get rid of because it's like a part of myself being owned by someone else. I regret not doing something about that.

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