It is strange that I am writing to you, my absent friend, since I have spent decades preparing to communicate with others of my species. Still, you have been my longest and most loyal friend, and for that I thank you. I recall your presence when I was but eleven years old. We played together on the wooden arm that held my father's mailbox out towards the street, hat and leather pants joining us. You are quiet and reserved, yet unnerving at once. You say nothing and act just as little. The calm that joined us was all joy, until the other children appeared. Then, still you were there, still silent quiet inactive.