The Power of Love

May 17, 1662
Alden-- age 17:

"Mail!" March yelled as he entered the dorm room. The other students gathered around him. One by one, the tall, lanky red-head handed envelopes out to the proper pupil. Alden took his two and went to his bed. He opened the one from George Hudson first.
"In the year of Our Lord, 1662, this Third of May,
Dear Ray . . . "
There was news from the village, odds and ends and then: "......Parker returned April 20th. Shortly after his return, he took on a position with Lord Hemispot. Three days later, Parker's father died in a freak accident. The death did not seem to bother our Parker. It's doubtful he's forgiven the old man for things that were done to him while he was growing up. 
"I do not like the suffering in Parker's eyes. He stays away from me. I have tried to speak to him, but he refuses to have anything to do with me. Perhaps he would like to hear from you. . ."
Alden dropped the letter onto his lap.
Parker was back.
Vivid images of eleven year old William Parker filled Alden's mind . . .Laughter, sunshine on dark hair, impish grins right before they pulled a prank . . . and the visions changed and he saw a sad Parker, a bitter friend who desperately wanted a normal, happy life and knew he'd never get it.
Had going to sea been a good thing for him? From Hudson's words, it hadn't. 
Would Parker remember him? Would he want to hear from him?
Alden tugged his small chest from beneath his bed and opened it. He removed pencil and paper and began to write:
"Dear William . . . "
Why was it so hard to write to a friend? There had been a time when there was not enough time in the day to speak together. Words tumbled from them both as though there would never be another day.
<We're older, > Alden pondered pensively. <We've changed, gone in different directions. Where's the meeting point now?> 
Sighing, he put words on the paper, memories, accounts of his own life now; He asked questions.
The letter was mailed, but it came back, unopened.