That said, the babble topic of the day is Aldrith. I met Aldrith via volunteer work when I was in eighth grade and she was in tenth. Impressionable youngster that I was, I thought she had the most fascinating name and the bluest hair and the most interesting music collection in the whole wide world. She was the first Mizfit I ever knew, even though this was before I’d ever heard the term; after my own small obsession began, things got interesting. Aldrith’s music collection turned out to be a Broadway gold mine and she herself turned out to have an Azelma complex that proved to be rather contagious. At some point, I took to calling her Zel, and shall call her by no other name hereafter.

Zel headed off not long afterward with a few friends, making for the other side of the country. She eventually settled elsewhere after dragging herself out of a few holes; even so, she’d toss me the odd e-mail whenever she had regular Internet access, which made for some interesting reads. It took some time, but she succeeded in pulling things together, taking up residence in a fourth-floor apartment with a red laptop called Chaucer and an altruistic student by the name of Noelani. She was extremely proud of both.

This Noelani, at any rate, was considerate enough to toss me an e-mail of her own, which I discovered this morning. Short and sweet, it told how Zel managed to cause quite a stir at a party not long ago by scaring the wits out of an unfortunate boy in the bathroom, a feat she apparently accomplished with the aid of a razor blade and a full bathtub.

So said dear Noelani, though I wish she hadn’t. I think. Or not. At the moment, I have no idea what to think; things refuse to sort themselves out, if that makes any sense. Once I finished reading, I stared at the computer screen until the screensaver came up and Medusa reminded me that the bus was due to come soon. Not much has changed since then. There’s no one word for whatever state it is my mind is in right now, but whatever state it is, it’s apparently no more eloquent than I am now. Dumb, I guess, is the closest I can come to putting a name to it. Or distant, blank, curious, confused, reluctant, jealous, guilty, raw, uncomprehending, and so on into infinity.

I know I hadn’t seen the girl in years, or even communicated with her very frequently. And I know that, even if we’d kept in touch, I would never have seen her again. But now, knowing that even the remotest possibility of that ever happening is gone, I miss her more than I ever have, more than I ever would have had we lost touch. Then, at least, the break would have had a margin for reconciliation, but now, there’s no chance left. There’s something nastily and sharply real that comes with that sort of finality. And I’m getting inarticulate, and I still can’t force my brain into action. As of now I don’t understand, but I think I should.

Adieu.