Fan Letter

I selected Davy, my beloved Monkees’ British—so Beatle-y!—lead singer. He was a former jockey, a fan magazine told me, so not too much taller or heavier. And if you ignored the age difference (me: 9, Davy: 22), I reasoned, our pairing was plausible.
But how to convince Davy?
Later, puberty raging, I discovered the fan letter in my mother’s desk. Jolted and ashamed, I read my own third-grade words: “Dear Davy, I am the kind of girl that all boys like….” I decided to kill the plan to save this one for later laughs. I tore the letter into bits, to never again be found and read. Ever.