Dear Luke,
It was a perfect summer night. The stars were out, the sky clear. There was a slight breeze but the the temperature was just right. It was one of those summer nights where any person would find themselves sitting outside for the evening perfectly content. Dusk had just began to fall and you could see a sliver of sunlight in the distance, painted across the golf course.
I was sitting in a rehearsal room of the big white house on top of the hill next to the theater. The lights were off and I was sitting in the dark. I don’t know why. I was in tech for Sound of Music. The other cast was onstage rehearsing and I suppose the kids in my cast were playing hide and seek outside, or sitting and watching the others perform.
All I remember was that I was sitting alone, in darkness, when you first came into my life.
And sure enough, it was the light I needed.
Juliette, your mother, rounded the corner first. I remember immediately feeling the sensation of excitement at the simple fact that Juliette was in the room. It’s a feeling I think I share with many people in this world. As you know very well, when your mother enters a room, it immediately becomes warm and full of life and a place that may feel incredibly unknown feels like home.
Spencer was not around, but you came through the doorway holding two wooden swords. If my memory holds true, you were debating something, which comes to no surprise. Your mother cut you off, seeing me sitting alone and immediately introduced us.
“Jack! Have you met my son Luke?” She said.
“… No… Hi!” I said hesitantly.
“Hi, I’m Luke!” you said.
Your mother had to run backstage, her scene was coming up. But after overseeing the initial meeting, she left swiftly with a smile.
A slight pause. We’re both sitting. In a dark room.
“Want to play?” you said, handing me one of your wooden swords.
I paused. Looking at the wooden sword and then at you. Your were slightly taller. Your muscles certainly bigger, and it was clear you were more experienced in athleticism than I was. (And let it be known that none of those facts ever changed as we grew up.) I was going to fail, I knew it. It probably wouldn’t be any fun for you. Still, what was I doing? I was just sitting, in a dark room, waiting for the night to be over. I wasn’t sad about that. I wasn’t happy. It was just another night.
I took a breath.
“I don’t know how.” I responded.
“I’ll show you.” You said.
You were determined. Not only to play with toy swords, but to make me play along. There was no way “no” was going to be an answer. (That too, never changed as we grew up.)
“Ok.” I said.
You jumped up and walked to the door, leading outside.
“Follow me.” You said.
We went to the front yard of Richter.
“Rightie or leftie?”
“What?”
“Are you right handed, or left handed?”
“Right.”
“Good. Here, take the sword in your right hand.”
“Ok…”
“Go.”
“Hey!”
You hit me. You hit me in the leg with the sword. It wasn’t hard. It didn’t hurt at all actually. I started to laugh and I hit you back. And then without any instruction or lessons, we began to swing the swords at each other left and right. Neither one trying to one up or hurt the other. Both of us were just having fun. And it was there, on the front lawn of Richter, surrounded by fire flies and the echoes of Rodger’s and Hammerstein’s “Edelweiss”, we played for the very first time, and our friendship began.
Your buddy,
Jack