Page 93 of Forget About Me

I am a better person having had my arms around you.

Having been inside you.

Having

There are a bunch more half-finished letters as well as torn-out pages from plays and novels with notes in the margins say things like “Tell Lucy” or just “Lucy!”

At the bottom of the stack are two letters actually in envelopes. One I sent to him. I’m trying to decide which to read first, when memories of the day I wrote mine come slamming back.

I’m so nervous, I keep dropping the quarters before I can get them into the payphone slot. It’s after midnight, but I just need one more hit of Ben.

I finally manage to punch in his home number—I forgot the area code the first time because I’m not used to calling him long distance—and thankfully it rings. I was worried I didn’t have enough money.

“Hello?” Ben’s voice is scratchy, like I woke him up.

“Hey, Ben, it’s me.” He doesn’t say anything. “Lucy.”

“Yeah, sorry, I was asleep. Wait—are you okay?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just couldn’t sleep. I’m here, in my dorm.” I realize I should keep my voice low. The phone’s at the end of the hall, but people might be sleeping in the rooms nearby. “I just—I just wanted to tell you…”

My heart pounds even now as everything I was feeling that day roars back. It was my very first day. Fear of the unknown battled with the fear of missing out. My body ached from missing his, even though we’d kissed less than twenty-four hours before.

I was afraid that if I told him I loved him, he’d say it back just because he felt like he had to. After all, I was the one who initiated everything between us. So instead of telling him what I was really feeling, I started yakking about every minute detail of my trip here, my dorm room, my roommate, what I’d had for dinner. Before I could circle back to what I really wanted to say, I was interrupted.

“Please insert one dollar for another three minutes,” the mechanical voice announces.

“Shit. I don’t have any more money, Ben. I used all my laundry quarters already.”

“It’s okay, Lucy. You’re gonna be okay. You know I—?”

I’ll never know what he was going to say. He didn’t have the number of the payphone, so he couldn’t call me back. I went back to my room to grab the box of stationery one of my girlfriends had given me and took it to the lounge to write the sticker-covered letter now in my hands…. where I just blathered on some more about mundane crap.

I never told him I loved him. Instead I made it seem like I was ready to move on. Now, as I read my own words, it’s clear I was doing my best to convincemyselfof that fact. He never answered my letter, so I assumed I was right and we were over.

Will the undelivered letter staring at me from my kitchen table tell me what he was really feeling back then? Only one way to find out.

I open it.

Wed. Aug. 24 ’81

I’m back at school.

I should’ve told you this in person but I’m such a total barney, I couldn’t.

But I have to tell you - I love you Lucy.

There.

If I’m being honest here, I’ve loved you since the day I first saw you, squatting on the sidewalk saving worms.

Yours forever,

Ben

Why didn’t he mail this letter? Was he unsure if he truly loved me? Or, did love me but didn’t feel like he should?

The biggest question of all: why did he send thesenow?

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