AFTER THE ROAST: IN RE: 325609

         Thank you, thank you! I did not expect to be the guest of honor at my own Roast. I am deeply touched. I believe at this point in the proceedings, I am supposed to offer rebuttal and turn back on those who have spent the last hour burying me under a barrage of words, but I must ask how? How is it possible to rebut friendship?

         It was last August. Morgan had died two months before. Her mental condition had robbed her death of any dignity. The well wishers had gone home, taking with them their 'if there is anything I can do' routines. I was left on my own. I can follow my tracks in my writings. The hopes so puffed up in "Young at Heart" were now deflated by the time of 'Abracadabra'. Lucky for me, my poor friends, recipients of these pieces in their mailbox, were polite and kept reading.

         Somewhere, somehow, one was forwarded to a widow in Northeast New Jersey. She says today that we met on Stories. I claim she recruited me. Whose version is correct does not matter. She read the piece, found my email address and contacted me.

"Hi Fellow Traveler:
         I like your writing. I write also. I've been where you are. If you need to talk sometime, email me. Pam"

         These are my words, not Pam's. No evidence exists of that first exchange, but it really happened, and I did respond with my own email. Shortly thereafter I gave her my telephone number and one Saturday evening I returned from walking the dog to find two messages on the machine. The first message said that she had missed me and that I should call her back. The second was an embarrassed admission that she had forgotten to give me her number and now was providing it.

         I called back. Of course, she had gone out. It was several days before we caught up with each other, but we have not let go since. In our first talk she told me of her mysterious job that would take her traveling, her writing and of Stories.com where I could read her works. I told her of the web site where I posted. We exchanged on-line handles on several of the popular messenger services and began to chat by computer.

         It was so easy to talk to her and listen to her. Both of us spoke in monologue, a form of speech that can grow tiring to those not used to it but not to us. We told each other stories of our pasts, present and hoped-for future. We joked with each other, teased each other and tried out our writings on each other. We became our biggest fans and critics, helping each other write better. We were thrilled when the other earned promotion within Stories.

         I am getting ahead of myself. Shortly after Labor Day, Pam announced to me that she would like to visit my house. She planned to drive here after visiting her daughter in Pennsylvania. Looking back today on last fall, Pam says had her children known that she was going to see this man she had met through the Internet, they probably would have locked her up. She wondered herself at the time if she were crazy.

         In each other’s presence, our fear and self-loathing left us. At our first talk at my table, I learned about parking problems in her neighborhood while she was given a run down on the exact boundary of my back lot and the type of trees I had. We stammered out little inanities until we realized we were not monsters and that each of us could give the other something lacking in each of our lives: the person that could be told anything without embarrassment or defensiveness. We began to share each other’s life and dreams.

         She has become the main character of my writings, while I have assumed the unofficial title of Pam’s editor. We don’t always agree, but we have fun with our differences. Now we plan to take our act on the road, appearing at the Stories convention. Look for us and watch our smoke.

         So I conclude by saying that perhaps the wrong person has been roasted. A man who has lost his wife should not be this happy, but the evidence is all there. Pam has made me a better, happier person, and I hope I have just done a little of the same for her. Pam brings her special brand of energy, happiness, profanity and joy to my life, and I believe to the lives of all those who encounter her through Stories.com. Three cheers and many GPs for Pam!