Entering my house I flick on the lights illuminating the hallway. I drop my school bag by the front door, not really caring enough to take it up to my room. Mindlessly I walk in my living room, sparsely decorated with a single leather couch and a coffee table with a black plasma television screen mounted on the wall. Lazily I toss the pile of mail in my hands on the empty coffee table and collapse onto the couch. I can see the remote for the television on the floor, but I’m too tired to move. Instead I stare at the blank screen as if I could turn it on with my mind. I spend about half an hour here on this couch unmoving, not thinking, just allowing myself to be. The muscles in my face were languid and I was tempted to just fall asleep right then and there, but if I did I would not sleep through the night.
Out of boredom I stretched my arm and grabbed the mail that I had carelessly thrown earlier. I began flipping through it, most of it was junk. Pizza coupons, internet promotions, flyers for local groceries stores found themselves before my eyes, but I quickly dismissed their importance moving onto the next envelope in my hands. There were a couple bills for the house but my mother paid everything online, so there was no distinct purpose for those either. Towards the end of the pile was a hand written letter addressed to me with no return address. It was thin, but it felt heavy in my hands as a foreboding sensation found a home in the pit of my stomach.
I sat upright, unsure if I should open it or not. The only people who knew where I lived were my friends from school, and none of them would bother writing me a letter when I saw them almost every day. No, this had to be from him. From the one person I was trying my hardest to avoid, to pretend that he had never existed. I wanted to disappear into the woodwork of a cookie-cutter house in a different part of the country. I had left no trace of my intended destination when I left all those months ago. How could he have found me?
My fingers turned numb, and I found it hard to grip the envelope in my hands. Licking my lips I wasn’t sure if I wanted to open it or not. Hearing what he had to say would only make me more nervous, it would do nothing for my sanity if I allowed him to constantly be a reminder in my life. But at the same time, the pull was almost impossible to ignore. They say ignorance is bliss but I already knew the letter existed and having knowledge of its contents would at the very least stop my mind from running wild with all the possibilities as to what it could contain.
I checked my surroundings once more, just to guarantee I was alone. I knew my mother was not home but it did not stop the tiny hairs from standing up on the back of my neck. Carefully peeling open the flap on the back, I took extra effort to prevent it from my ripping. My heart rate started to accelerate, the increase in tempo building up to a climax I was not quite ready for. Closing my eyes I focused on my breathing, lowering it back to its normal pace so I didn’t find myself in a self-induced panic attack. For a split second I thought about burning it, but the curiosity was too much. The anticipation was becoming too much.
With unsteady hands I tugged the single folded piece of paper out of its envelope. It was a thin sheet of lined paper, the type most people used for their homework. The edge of one side was torn as if he had ripped it out of a notebook, noticing the distinct purple line marking the margins; I knew he took it from my room back in New York. Last year I had gotten it for school from a cute little stationary shop, but now it was sitting in a drawer in my desk with the rest of my possessions that I had left behind. The fact that he was in my room made a shiver crawl down my spine, I wonder what else he had went through in my absence.
Unfolding it slowly, his usual messy handwriting was more tamed like he took the time writing each and every character out. Every word was well thought-out and intentional.
Dear My Ever Sweet Sara,
It took me some time to figure out where you were, but I have no doubt my letter has finally found you. I miss you; it’s been a long time since I last glimpsed your face. I just wanted you to know that I’m still thinking about you all the time and it won’t be much longer till we are reunited once more.
Take care for now,
Christian xo xo
Six lines from him was all it took to make my blood run cold. I felt drained, like he had sucked all the energy and life out of me. My hopes of starting over, of becoming someone I could be proud of, were dashed in an instant. I wanted this nightmare to end, but it he was not willing to let me go, I was forever stuck in quicksand with him.
I stared at the blank television screen once more but instead of seeing nothing, I saw the emptiness from within, the screen a mirror that shows only my faults. The silence pounded against my head, rattling around like the percussion section in an orchestra but I could not find the conductor anywhere in my sight. So instead I reached for the remote, clicking the power button in a desperate hope that the sound would flood the house with something other than the white noise. That it would wrap me in a blanket of protection, like a mother and father tucking their child into bed at night, taking turns to kiss their precious masterpiece on its forehead. A mark forever adorned by a child loved till the end of time.
With fumbling fingers I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed my mother’s number. Maybe if I could reach her she could do something to stop this. I paused before hitting the green talk button remembering her reaction last time I informed her of contact made with my past life. Would she still feel the same, would she still blame me for it? Before I could lose my nerve I hit the tiny button, the ringing of the dial tone was all I could hear. My mouth became dry like it was filled with cotton, would I have the strength to say what happened if she picked up? The phone kept ringing, still no response. Maybe she was sleeping or at work. What time was it wherever she was? Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system. The person you are trying to contact is currently unavailable. Please leave a message or try your call again later. I hung up immediately, not knowing what to say in a message, afraid she would ignore it. This was probably a sign from fate that my mother was supposed to be left in the dark. I couldn’t possibly make her move states once again; we would be forever moving every year till one of us was dead.
Running my fingers through my oily hair that needed to be washed, I pulled at the roots in frustration. There was no choice left for me but to wait. The ball was in his court now and I could only hope that when he went to serve that I could return the volley.
Lying back down on the couch, I gazed intently at the white ceiling. The smooth surface was sterile untouched by any blemishes to mark its composure. I held my breath, counting the seconds in my head. I wonder if I could suffocate myself this way, if I had enough discipline to ignore my lungs that screamed for the oxygen I wanted to deprive them from. It took eighty six seconds before my instincts to survive kicked in, maybe it would be easier under water with a rough reddish brown brick tied to my ankles.
Hey soul sister, hey there mister mister. On the radio stereo the way you move aint fair you -
It took me a couple moments to realize it was in fact my phone that was ringing and not a carefully crafted delusion. Jolting upright I checked the caller ID expecting to see my mother’s name flashing across the front, but instead it was Matt’s.
-know. Hey soul sister I don’t want to miss a single thing you do tonight. Heeey-
A wave of disappointment flashed through me but I picked up none the less. “Hey,” I breathed into the phone.
“What’s crack-a-lacking my home girl?” Matt attempted to be humorous with his slang and it earned him a slight smile on my face that he could not see. Even when things got tough and I left Matt and everyone oblivious to my ever present struggle, he always knew the right words to say to bring my mood around. He was that type guy, the guy who everyone can’t help but love. It was ironic that we were such good friends when everywhere I go I leave enemies in my wake. According to some studies I read, individuals are more likely to be attracted to people they are similar to. I guess we were the outliers in the experiment of life because for us it was opposites attracting.
“Not much home slice,” My gangster impersonation was not as street approved as his but it was a sufficient reply in keeping with his semantics. It was rare for him to call me so out of the blue, most of the time we were texting because it allowed for us to deliver delayed replies in between the daily tasks we had to complete.
“So there’s a party tomorrow to kick off the first day of March break. Are you in?” he asked. It did not come as a surprise that someone would be throwing a party when the whole school had the week off. Having a house party in high school is the easiest way to climb up the social ladder, it shows the other kids that you’re mature enough to have a house to yourself and you are savvy enough to obtain alcohol while still underage. However the journey up the ladder is lonely when you realize that all any of your friends want from you is a place to drink, get high, and have sex. Being nice to you is just a formality, but for some that suffices.
“I could never say no to party”. It wasn’t that I was an alcoholic, though that term has been used to describe me in jest several times. It had more to do with the fact that I loved being free, the sensation of losing all inhibitions and thoroughly revelling in the moment. Even if it’s just a room filled with sweaty drunk teenagers making dumb decisions, it was exhilarating. The kind of thrill that one cannot simply pass up when most days tend to blur together in a mess of routine that you cannot escape.
“I didn’t think you would, I don’t remember the last time you turned down a social event with booze and drunk girls,” he commented.
“You say that like I’m a lesbian or a dude”. It was the type of remark that I would expect the player of the grade to receive and I was the plain Jane kind of girl in the eyes of most, but Matt knew that beneath my calm exterior was a wild animal that nobody could tame. I was a bull constantly seeing red, but instead of anger that made me charge it was hope that one day I wouldn’t have to be stuck in a ring used for the cheap entertainment of others.
“I would love you forever if you say you’re a lesbian and agree to a threesome”. Matt held women in such high respect that it only made me love his mother more. He was acting slight misogynistic now, but it was a pretense I knew to be false. A lot of teenage boys see women as sexual objects, whether they want to admit it to themselves or not, but Matt firmly believed that women should be held on a pedestal.
“Do I have to be a lesbian to agree to a threesome?” I coyly asked, knowing full well that it would only bait his sexual fantasies.
“So you’re agreeing then,” Matt interpreted from my question.
“We’ll see. She’ll have to have some pretty nice boobs. I’m thinking at least a C-cup”. Personally I did not have the biggest breasts so hypothetically speaking it would be nice to add someone to our naughty salsa who possessed other assets that we were previously lacking. Not that I would actually agree to such a encounter, but it was funny to make him believe I would.
“Now I know you’re messing with me,” Matt relented.
“Oh I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” I mysteriously answered trying to prevent him from knowing my true intentions. The more I thought about it though, the more I questioned if it was ever something I would choose to engage in. Given the right people and the right circumstances I could see myself-
“I can’t wait to find out then. Christine is picking me up tomorrow if you want to meet at my place?” he offered interrupting my train of thought.
“See you then and don’t forget the condoms,” I reminded Matt knowing that we would be two teenagers at the party drunk and willing to mistakes. If you're going to do something reckless, you might as well do it with someone you trust. Nowadays sex is not purely for reproduction, it was also a risky pastimes.
“As in plural?” he suggestively tried to confirm, not for a single instance falling for my lies. He wanted me to admit that I was only goofing around, but our witty back and forth was too interesting to let die.
“You don’t think you’ll have enough energy for the both of us girls?” I teased. When it came to orgasms most men had the reputation of climaxing quickly. A woman, however, is a lot harder to satisfy. Combined with the capability of multiple orgasms it was hard to see a lot of men being able to pull off a threesome where everyone leaves…happy.
“You wound my ego ever so much”. Matt feigned upset, but we both knew that neither one of us meant anything offensive about one another. That was what real friendship was. Being able to say offensive things to each other and know that the other person truly does not think them about you. To be so comfortable in someone’s opinions of yourself that you never have to watch what you say because they will see your remarks in the light you intended them to be seen.