Chapter 7 - The Box Tops

According to Boy: From the very first time I nibbled on Evie’s sweet lips, tasted her mouth, inhaled her perfume, felt her soft breasts pressing on my chest, savored the sensation of her thighs moving slowly against mine when we kissed, I was hooked. She knew it, and I knew it. But there was a problem. I was on my way to New York, while she had to remain in Grand Rapids.

We both quickly realized that the only way we would have to get to know each other (beyond the thighs, lips and breasts) was through letter writing. She was good at it; I wasn’t. Even though I found it quite awkward at first, I learned. While I have always loved to write, before Evie I never considered letter writing as "real writing."

To Evie, letter writing was more of an art form than a literary pursuit. Her letters were always laced with cute drawings. In fact, she even adorned the outside of the envelope with art work. She was an artist.

I think we each wrote a couple letters each week during those months apart. Actually, I probably wrote a couple each week, but Evie wrote more often. I remember that all I could think about on my way back to my apartment building was opening up my mail box and finding a letter from Evie. I would always have it read twice by the time the elevator stopped at my floor. Then I would read it a third and fourth time, just in case I missed some nuance. It was not until I got to know her very well that I realized that she did not engage in that sort of thing. With Evie, it has always been "what you see is what you get." It took me some time to figure that out.

I can safely say that it was during those months of letter writing that I actually fell in love with her. Prior to that, I was infatuated with her, but the letters proved her substance, in my mind. So, when she finally was able to come out and visit me, I got tickets for us to go see the Box Tops. I think they were performing at the Copacabana. The reason I chose that group over others was because of one of their recordings: "My Baby She Wrote Me a Letter." Evie and I both identified with the words of that song:

Well, she wrote me a letter

Said she couldn’t live without me no mo’.

Listen mister can’t you see I got to get back

To my baby once a-mo’—anyway...

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane,

Ain’t got time to take a fast train.

Lonely days are gone, I’m a-goin’ home,

‘Cause my baby just a-wrote me a letter.

(Written by Wayne Carson Thompson)

I have no doubt that half of the baby boomers who were getting to know their lovers around that time share an affinity for that song (and probably those that don’t are either dead or divorced). But to Evie and me, that song remains more than just a fond memory. It was the song that embodied all the passions of that period in our love life.

Still today, when I hear it played on the radio, I feel a warm sensation passing over my whole body, and I want hold her in my arms, and taste her.

As for all the letters that we wrote—Evie had to throw away the ones I sent her because she had little brothers and sisters who would have loved to embarrass her with them. I saved the ones she wrote me, but we have hidden them so well that we have not been able to find them for the past fifteen years. We still do have that great song, however.