Imagining Felice, the Unmet Friend

 

 

In 1999 I am traveling all over France with my friend Teryl. Meanwhile there is a 3 1/2 month old baby named Ivar, dreaming of music, singing, writing, drawing and travel, if he could only escape his damn crib! As our train heads south from Paris, this baby gets the vague image of some woman dressed like a stylish sheep herder, who’s name starts with an F. Never mind that he has not yet learned A B C D or E. Truth be told, this baby has definitely  been here before. There is a soundtrack to his imaginings and it’s some kind of symphonic metal. I, on the other hand, having no interest in imagining babies and never hearing a name like Ivar, snap another picture and dream about my next coffee, beer, or soon to be legendary dinner of escargot.

In 2010 at age 11, Ivar imagines himself a friend, and her name is Felice. He keeps a journal in which all he writes is addressed to her. At the same time, Felice is in Chicago trying to reinvent her life, with no clue there is a little boy writing to her. When Ivar finishes his Felice diary, he makes up a new friend for the next book. But for some reason the name stays with him. Is it because Felice is again in France, in 2011 staying in Toulouse, 1 1/2 hours away? He writes a story, together with his twin brother Saffiro about a “strange” girl named Felice. (Thanks Ivar! Strange as in cool or as in weird? Unique or psycho?) The story is titled “Felice, daughter of Freedom”.

 

 

On January 22, 2017, Ivar, a member of Postcrossing, requests an address from the site. The universe spins the magic address wheel and with a smirk, then a giggle, my name appears. Holy merde! It’s Felice! Ivar is 17, soon to be 18 before the card will arrive. He chooses a beautiful black and white image from his trip to Portugal. He doodles around the address, the message and his signature, in an ironically similar fashion to myself. He mentions briefly the story he wrote with my name. He says that he loves to explore old cemeteries, just like me! He tells me about his band called Dr. Dragonfly and explains that he loves dragonflies, moths and insects in general. More irony, is that my 17-18 year old self was obsessed with dragonflies. I drew them, made a wood block print and wore a dragonfly neckless. I imagine my 17 year old self, joining the band. In this fantasy I can actually sing and play violin and speak fluent French because…..I’m French 🙂 Ha! But seriously…..

This postal encounter is another example of the true cosmic workings of the universe. Our life with all it’s twisty turning paths that at some point intersect and the psychic sense of these others we have not yet met. We that are members of the same tribe of cemetery exploring, dragonfly loving writers and artists. That is what I  believe of this strange story. It is beautiful that there is a town in France, that lives a young man, 40 years younger, and we are connected.  The point being we are all connected.  And yes, I have always been the daughter of freedom. Sometimes I forget, so the postcard is a reminder, a message to be true to myself and my nature. Thank you, Ivar, for this precious gift.