~ from Jill

So my cousin and I made a pact. We said we would each send a few of our poems out to some journals, to see what might happen. We researched together, picking names at random from a long literary list, then set our plan: we’ll mail them out Friday. Ami stamped hers and addressed them, then wrote to ask, “Are your letters in the mail yet?”

Of course they weren’t. I wasn’t ready. The longer I thought about sending those poems out, the worse they sounded, the cheaper my printing paper seemed, even my dented mailbox seemed to scream its unworthiness for the task. I procrastinated another week, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

One week later, I got a gentle reminder: have you sent them yet? I made excuses (they were good ones).

The next week, another reminder, sounding a little more agitated: “Hey, I thought we were a team!”

“I know,” I explained over the phone long-distance, “we sort-of promised we would jump in the water together – “

“Exactly,” she broke in, “Then I jumped and YOU stayed behind laughing, it wasn’t very funny!” Okay, okay, I got the point.

So I scrambled to format those poems, printed, folded and tucked them in envelopes. I even saved a trip to the PO, and mailed them from our dented mailbox, the one painted a dusky blue after my youngest worked his Picasso-magic with brushes and rainbow paint.

And I wasn’t alone. I e-mailed the picture of my submissions in the mailbox to Ami: “Picture proof!” she exclaimed, “I love it! You go girl!”

Whatever may happen, it’s nice to have someone to tread water with.