She sent me stamped letters the summer she was grounded before there were computers for regular people and I always sent a letter right back the next day.
We talked of Ryan White and AIDS, the environment, and how her parents were unfair for punishing her for escaping out her window some rainy nights to meet a boy and share a (secret) cigarette. Sometimes we cuddled on the bed or held hands, fingers laced through one another like lovers and talked like sisters.
I remember the boings of her curls and how soft her hands were and bare midriffs and the way her hair smelled like lilac shampoo. Maybe this is why her letters carry the same scent. Because I remember her smelling that way or the letters were very close to the shampoo. I like to imagine the latter.