Not Attending: __x__
I didn’t even know you had my new address, and I certainly didn’t know you actually wanted it; if I had, it would have been yours years ago.
There are a few things I’d like to say, not to ask for forgiveness or even to steal a little of it when you weren’t looking, but because it’s been too long to not try to tell you what I’ve been up to.
It was my fault. It was my fault because it was my plan, and no matter how much credit you tried to take for it at the time I never bought it, not because I didn’t appreciate the thought but because, and I say this without the slightest twinge of egotism, it was too elegant for you. All the potential in the world lived under your thumb, waiting patiently to disclose the inner workings of your talent. You were a god at what you did.
What you couldn’t do was talk to people. I gathered the information, and I figured out how to use it. I even got ahold of the disguises, you’ll remember - I had an uncle who was in the garment business on the seedy side of town, from back when they still made things apart from martinis and pizza. He knew who to talk to.
I know it was my plan because I designed it so that if anything went wrong, the only person in any danger was me. When the alarms blew they blew in colors, the hallway lights making everything burn, as close to “Aha! Gotcha!” as you could get without a comical sound effect and a trap door.
The other thing I did was introduce the two of you, but like we settled long ago, that was a different kind of weary.
I’m sorry it didn’t work out for all of us. Tell the others (if you see them; don’t be stupid) that I said hi.
Ten more years. I’ll come to your anniversary, I promise.
Cross-posted (after a fashion) to