Winning air-band competitions. Spying on the cute neighbor. Scribbling in your secret club notebooks. Wearing the same outfit. And most of all, feeling like you two are the coolest people on earth. In her laugh-out-loud letter, Bevin Wallace reminisces with her first best friend who doubled as her partner in crime…
“If you were sitting here with me tonight, we’d crack open some Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill and laugh so hard we’d pee our pants. I don’t think I realized until recently how great, special–and hilarious–our friendship was. We’re putting our house on the market, so I’ve been purging old boxes. And I came across our yearbook, Ramblings ’83, and found the five pages (all marked SAVE FOR LYNNE at the top in red felt tip) you covered with doodles, silly quotes, inside jokes–and the memories came flooding back. We met in second grade, and even though we had lots of separate friends, and I was preppy and you were punk rock (I attempted the New Wave look but always had to incorporate a little pink or teal), we stayed best friends throughout high school. Together, we formed our mean-spirited secret club (total membership: two). Somehow we got it into our heads that we were better (as in cooler, cuter, tougher, smarter) than the other girls on the block. Our many talents included: a blue ribbon-winning three-legged race (we practiced for weeks; it was the only time in my life that I didn’t dread field day); doing The Hustle in very cool disco outfits in the sixth-grade talent show; our well-rehearsed middle school skit, called The Streak (I can still picture Julie running across the stage in that tan leotard); and, of course, our fabulous entry in the air-band competition senior year: Let’s Do the Time Warp Again. We won. Finally, we were the celebrities we always knew we would be! Even if we couldn’t write song lyrics like The Vapours or Big Audio Dynamite (but, man, did we try!)…”
BEVIN WALLACE spent much of her twenties getting over the fact that she never made it big-time as a performer (although her best friend and subject of her letter did once dance on stage with The Tubes). Between stints as a book publicist, bookseller, nonprofit-event coordinator, and PR gal in cities like New York, San Francisco, and Denver, she rediscovered her love of outdoor adventure. Some of her adult escapades include trekking in Nepal and Peru, backcountry skiing in Europe with her two tiny kids (“les petites Alpinistes”), climbing about half of Colorado’s 14ers, cycling in France, and completing the California AIDS ride from San Francisco to L.A. As a former editor at Skiing magazine, she’s traveled and skied all over the world–including Japan, Austria, Utah, Switzerland, Quebec, and Las Vegas. She left Skiing in 2003 to give her knees a rest and to serve as editor-in-chief of Warren Miller’s SnoWorld. Today she works as a copywriter and continues to write for Skiing, Ski, National Geographic Adventure, Delicious Living, Elevation Outdoors, and other publications. She lives in Denver with her husband, David; her seven-year-old son, Sean, and her four-year-old daughter, Lauren–all of them are avid skiers, and they just love to look at photos of mom decked out for The Clash concerts in 1983.
Read the rest of Bevin’s letter, and 35 others, in P.S. What I Didn’t Say: Unsent Letters to Our Female Friends, now available on Amazon and at bookstores nationwide!