BUCKING THE SYSTEM: PARTING COMPANY: "IT'S IN THE MAIL" AND OTHER FRIENDLY LIES

Keeping in contact with long-distance friends is not a recreation I excel in. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty awful at it.

It's so hard to say goodbye and leave it at that, but people like me ought to try it more often.

I mean well, I just never complete the cycle of actions other people need to feel special. I never remember to call and let people know I've reached my destination, and while I write profusely, somehow those letters never get mailed because I either forget the person's address, or don't buy a stamp, or just never drop the thing in the mailbox.

My best friend from college -- the woman I can tell absolutely anything to and she won't even blink -- lives in San Diego, and we probably talk three times a year, which amounts to the number of times I lose and find her phone number each year.

So if I know I have this problem and that I'm probably not going to change at this late date, why do you think I continue to tell the same lies every time a friend or colleague I really like moves away?

Take for example David Angier, my former colleague who returned home to a job in sunny Florida this week. Dave was like the last of the offbeat reporters in the newsroom -- other than myself, of course -- and we genuinely enjoyed each other's company. Which is why I guess we couldn't do anything but lie to each other during our last conversation.

We made all of the right noises with the "We had some good times," "I'll miss you," ""Who am I going to vent to now?" conversations, but then the lies just started rolling out on both sides.

"Tam, I'm going to send you a postcard with my address and phone number on it as soon as I get settled so we can keep in touch," he blithely said.

"Sure, and I'm going to write you, too," I said, even as I silently apologized for my untruth. "And you've got my e-mail address ... right?"

As if that weren't bad enough, the conversation continued, and things just got plain ugly.

"I'm going to have a real apartment down there so that when my friends want to come and visit they'll have somewhere nice to sleep," he said. "You know I dig Patrick, and little Jerry Buck, so you guys should come and visit."

Uh oh, you better duck, because here it comes.

"We will, too," I said. "I'm serious. I plan to visit you, and Heidi and Jamie, and everybody down there.

What is it about human nature that we just won't leave well enough alone? Odds are that I'm not going to write, call or visit, so I probably should have told Dave goodbye and have a good life and left it at that. Instead, I made a lot of promises that I'm not going to keep.

My family has finally figured out that if I call after being on the road, something probably went wrong, and Tosha knows that when I call or write, that means I found my address book.

I guess I can take comfort in knowing Dave probably knows me well enough to know I really won't do any of the things I promised him either. We had some good times that he can keep near and dear, and I'll do the same.

But as for any post-relocation communication, he'll have to accept my standard "The letter's in the mail" line when he makes a return visit to Cape Girardeau.

After all, that's what friends are for.

~Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.