I never did thank you for your heroism that summer so many years ago, did I? But, you know, I still think about you sometimes. I still think about the morning you called and I was teary and upset because it was my birthday and I was so far away from home. But I hadn’t told you that part. Not until much later in the day. No, you came because your friend was sad, and because you had a car, and because you thought it would be nice if we stepped out for a while. And you did just the perfect thing – did you know it was perfect? You took me to the Dutchess County Fair. And you let me have the Kermit doll we won from the silly carnival game, whatever it was. And you rode the Ferris Wheel with me despite your fear of heights. And you were open to the merits of getting an old-timey portrait taken. (I remember how pleased you were with it after the fact. You swore we looked good enough to be models.) And you joined me in cursing the rain for putting a quick end to the pig races for the day, though I'm sure you weren't the least disappointed. And you insisted we watch Roy Clark (of Hee-Haw fame) play the banjo. For which I am especially thankful. I am always tickled to recall him onstage in his black, studded jumpsuit and red kerchief strumming the banjo for the fifteen or so of us brave enough to sit through the thunderstorm and listen. 
You gave me a wonderful day. And you managed to pull it off without even knowing it was my birthday. I’m sorry I didn't mention it until we were ready to leave. I just didn’t want to be one of those girls who gets all mopey and depressed because she is another year older. That’s not what it was; I was just lonely. And you were exactly what I needed that day. Thank you endlessly for that.
I’m not sure where you are now or if this will ever find you. But I hope you get back the magic you gave. I hope you get it back a thousand-fold.
Love,
me
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