When I was a child I corresponded with a girl named Louise, a girl who lived in New South Wales, clear on the other side of the world from me. My fourth-grade teacher had decided that we should all have pen pals. I don’t know how she found Louise or any of the other twenty or so children to whom my classmates would write, but I’m grateful that she did. Louise was bubbly, bright and warm. I imagined her living in a tropical house, more open to the outside than not. I imagined her feet dusty with red dirt. I imagined her cavorting with koala bears and kangaroos. I tacked all of the stereotypes I’d gathered about Australia onto her nine-year-old person. She enchanted me. Or the idea of her enchanted me, but that’s my adult self articulating a distinction I never made at nine, ten, or eleven years old.
Louise and I, we probably lasted longer than most pen pals do. I recall writing to her well into my sixth-grade year. I had been suffering at the hands of some girl bullies, and I was sad nearly all the time. Louise’s letters were one of the few consolations I had at that time in my life. She was the perfect friend. She would never betray me. One arm pitched on her hip, she’d yell at those mean girls to leave me alone. And then Louise and I, we’d run away, laughing, clouds of terracotta dust kicked up in our wake.
In those years I kept dreaming of Australia. Its climate seemed the balm that would take away all my stings, not only the cattiness of my once-friends but the pricking pain of my body, which seemed to be changing daily, quite without my permission. In no small way Louise got me through the fifth and sixth grades. She was better than an imaginary friend, though she served much the same purpose, I suppose — and yet I could substantiate her. Here, her handwriting! There, her tongue, which licked the stamps that brought her letters to me, across oceans!
Lately I find myself thinking a lot about Louise. We haven’t communicated since 1979. I don’t know whether she lives in Australia still. To me she is frozen in time at nine years old, dark braids and sun-kissed skin, more brown than red. Skinny, joyful, faithful companion, lover of koala bears and kangaroos, lover of me, pale indoor city girl. (Louise was probably just as much of a city girl as I was. But I refused to believe that of her. Her life had to be better than mine. It just had to.)
Louise gave the best to me and got the best from me. I’ve always been better on the page in person. I loved her, this girl I never did get to meet. If this is an exaggeration, you’ll forgive it, because it doesn’t feel that way: Louise saved my life.
Kids don’t think in terms of losing touch; they are far too focused on the present for that. So Louise and I made no arrangements to keep in touch. We grew busy. We became teenagers. And then we grew up.
All I can do now is write this. It seems fitting to end with words what began with words:
July 8, 2012
Dear Louise N., Newcastle, NSW, Australia,
Thank you for everything. I hope that life has kept you bubbly, bright and warm.
Sincerely, Sarah A., New York, NY, USA
I had multiple pen pals, Dia in Italy, Pascal in France, and Polly, in Buffalo, NY, my SIL’s little sister. I remember the thrill of the letters and postcards. Polly and I would see each other from time (and now she lives about 30 miles north of me in Virginia).
I had an American pen pal in primary school (grade school).
I told her we rode kangaroos to school and lived in the bush. In reality we lived in the city, never saw a kangaroo or anything more exotic than a cat or dog out of the zoo and walked along a 4 lane highway to get to school.
I hope you find her one day. How awesome would it be if she was a blogger?
I so relate to this. I had a penpal when I was in grade three, and wrote to her throughout primary school. I often think about her and wonder what happened to her. I’ve googled her but not managed to track her down. I hope you find your friend.
I used to live around Newcastle, though a bit after you’d stopped writing.
Not to ruin your mental image of the place, but Hamilton is pretty surburban, and it’s built on former swamp/marsh (if I recall correctly) – the soil is definitely more sandy than terracotta.
If you know Louise’s last name, or have some idea of which school she went to, you may have some luck finding her on Facebook.
Best of luck finding her though!
I truly and sincerely hope that somehow she finds this. it isn’t impossible. in fact, it is very possible. hope.
Maybe she’ll google herself…
i never had a pen pal. i do wonder whatever happened to paula though. she was my sailing friend from the next town.
As an Australian, I can’t help but be tickled (and a little proud – which makes no sense at all!) that it was an Australian penpal who provided such comfort during that time. I love your childhood notions of Australian life – cavorting with koalas, in particular!! It’s amazing what sustenance we can draw from correspondence with a sympatico soul. I had several penpals in late primary and early high school. I can still visualise the photos of Tone from the Faroe Islands (if you went wild imagining Australia, you can imagine how I went to town with this location – I virtually had her eating whale blubber at every meal!), and Chie from Japan (who wrote back after I sent her a photo of my very awkward early high school self saying that she thought I was beautiful. Sniff). There was something truly lovely about these connections formed through writing with girls I’d never meet. A precursor to the blogosphere, perhaps??