Open letter to *****

—“Of all the people I’ve met during my 77 years on this planet, you are extremely interesting. I find myself wondering what makes ***** tick.”
I would say that to *****, my lifeguard friend at Canandaigua’s YMCA swimming pool.
The girl who grew up in that little burg south of where I went to college.
One of the few I know who can correctly pronounce “Scio,” as could her mother, who died recently, and probably her father too.
“When I first came to this pool three years ago, and saw you on that lifeguard stand: ‘she’s the pretty one. I'll never befriend her. She’s too pretty.’
Then you said hello to me by name.” Why in the wide wide world is someone so impressive saying hello to a lifelong scumbag?
“And now three years later we remain friends, despite the many flubs and foulups prompted by my feeble attempts to bridge the dreaded male/female gap.
There you are poolside, drifting toward me so we can talk.
I find myself thinking you could do a lot better.
We are two entirely different persons, you an aquanaut, and me a word geek. My head is so full of words my critics say “I think too much!”
Would you be so balown away by all them stars above that Cañon City campground?
I know I was, and I’m not sure my wife, who was incredible, would be.
“Billions and billions and billions of stars,” just like Carl Sagan said.
When this pool re-opened last August we met again, and it seemed you were happy to see me. I was happy too, although scared.
I don’t wanna lose this ****-girl, she may be a romantic like me. Billions and billions of stars romantic.
“If I am correct, and I’m probably not, I think you said something about your showing up as long as I did.
In which case I decided to continue showing up, even though I feel like I’m beating my head against the wall. My balance just keeps getting worse and worse.
If we made a deal it wasn’t ironclad like me and ******. She promised to never give up on me no matter how feeble and confused were my attempts at female interaction, plus my minimal socialization experience.”
She hasn’t. She’s always happy to see me, and smiles.
“And now I have a question for you regarding watching American Graffiti on my MAC.
Someone directed me to Amazon, and beyond that I’m lost.
Amazon is trying to shove ‘Prime’ down my throat — I thought I was just downloading to my MAC.
Born in the wrong century, I guess.”

• “Sigh-oh.”