September 14, 1983
My name is Lisa McColgan. I just turned 13 and I am in the eighth grade at Central Junior High School in Hingham, Massachusetts. It is very boring here. When is Duran Duran coming to Boston? I would like to go.
The internet hasn’t been invented yet, otherwise I could probably look it up that way. As it stands, I have to figure out the lyrics to your songs by buying magazines specifically devoted to deciphering song lyrics. I buy these at the Curtis Compact about a mile away from my house, although this is where the “rough” kids hang out. They smoke cigarettes and make fun of my clothes. But I need to go here because in addition to these magazines, they carry the kind of candy that I am supposed to carry around in my cheap leatherette Jordache purse, the one with the safety pin holding the strap on. You have to have Now&Laters, Lemonheads, and Alexander the Grapes or else no one will like you.
I think if you come to Boston I will find out where you are staying. Do you each get your own room or do you have to share? I think it would be fun to share a room with Nick Rhodes. I would hang out in the lobby and wait for you. Even though I am thirteen and at least 10 pounds overweight, our eyes would meet and you would see past my age and extra baggage and realize that we are soulmates. I know that you would wait for me. I will graduate high school in 1988. I will graduate with a picture of Elvis Presley on my mortarboard and my classmates will roll their eyes. By then I will be over you. I will be all about Neil Finn. But today I am pretty sure you will wait for me.
Oh, John. 13 is such a terrible age to be. Everything seems like it’s a million years away and I am never going to become what I am meant to become. I try to imagine myself as six inches taller and 10 pounds lighter and the fact is that I am not going to be much taller than I am now. Do you understand? I mean – we haven’t met in the hotel lobby yet but maybe my words will take the place of that chance meeting and you will read them and slowly lower this letter onto your lap, close your eyes, and sigh with very great longing. Because you DO understand. That’s why I am very carefully choosing my words. I want my letter to stand out without the aid of puffy stickers that say “TUBULAR!” I want my letter to weigh upon your very soul, thereby meriting more than a form letter and an invitation to part with the ten dollars I don’t have to join your fan club.
Please write back.