It was soon time to let her know about my disability. It hurt when Jill mentioned that one of her favorite things to do in summer was to climb the hills overlooking Oslo and the sea. She invited me to join her someday to share the view.
Then I got her picture. Pretty, petite and tanned, with glistening golden hair, sparkling sapphire blue eyes and a sunny smile.
I never experienced this feeling before. Not even my many crushes felt like this. My heart said one thing, my head said another. She lived too far away. She would find someone someday, get married, have kids and live happily ever after. It could never be.
Did she even have a boyfriend? Jill was engaged once, but it "didn't work out.' She dated but there was no one special now.
'So you see," she wrote, "there will be no jealous boyfriend when we go on our tour of New York Citytogether."
Tour of New York? I had trouble getting off my own block.
Her dream date was a walk through Central Park, a tour of Manhattan, a Manilow concert, a quiet, candlelight dinner for two in a cozy Italian restaurant, with good food, a glass of wine and then...dessert.
"Wanna join me?" she asked.
No wonder I had lost all common sense. I didn't exactly lie or lead her on. But I wasn't totally upfront either. I was confused how to handle the situation. I knew it was time to be honest before it was too late.
There were always stories on the news of pen-pals meeting, often leading to romance. We exchanged gifts over Valentines Day. She wasn't kidding about meeting. With hard work over the next year she might be able to save enough money for a vacation in the summer of 1986.
Until then she invited me to Norway. Oslo was such a beautiful city: the famous Sculpture Park; the Viking Museum; the many quaint sidewalk cafes and shops. The mountains and fjords, those hills overlooking the city
It was time to write the truth.
Then something unexpected happened. There was a postal strike which cut-off all international mail.
I was miserable for a month. I checked the mailbox several times a day, hoping a letter would magically appear to cheer me up, only to always find it as empty as my heart.
The first letters to make it across the ocean after the strike settled brought relief and realization of what we meant to each other. The loneliness melted away and we were determined never to lose each other again.
I wanted the truth to be more personal than a handwritten letter. So I sent Jill a tape, recorded on a late spring evening. I explained everything, about the fractures and hospital stays, the surgeries and long rehabilitation. I told her about the loneliness, the prejudice, the pain.
I wasn't fracturing as much now. I got around in a wheelchair, which actually gave me more freedom then when I was a kid. I wasn't totally independent yet, but I was trying, and everything else in my life- from college to my family life- were all true.
I would understand if she changed her mind about everything. I mailed the tape and braced myself for an answer.
A postcard arrived soon after from Jill, saying she "loved and missed" me, and a more lengthy letter would follow. Was the postcard sent before or after she received my tape? I waited a few more anxious days.
I hesitated before opening her letter this time. I expected bad news but to my delight and surprise Jill's feelings had not changed. Sure, she was surprised by my tape. But she wrote that she admired my courage for telling her the truth. She had normal questions about my life. Did I have special care needs? Was there a chance to ever walk?
Those questions were easier to answer now. For the first time I faced my challenge without fear, knowing her feelings were even stronger now.
New York or not, she still wanted to visit if I wanted to meet her. There was no one like her in my life. We would work out any obstacles. Jill was special and I finally agreed to meeting her in a year.
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