Page 92 of Forget About Me

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Bedtime for me.” She waves a hand. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

“I will, but everything’s perfect so far. Thanks again.”

I watch her descend the steep stairs, making sure she makes it safely to the first floor before going back inside. Closing the door against the chilly evening, I head to my tiny kitchen to heat some water for tea, a nice cup of Sleepytime while I go over my schedule.

Once the kettle’s on, I remember the shopping bag, and I dump its contents onto the table—a stack of magazines, something from the city that might be important, junk mail and a large manila envelope. I guess I need to do something about having my mail forwarded. There are so many things grownups have to think about. After tossing the catalogs in the trash and setting the letter and magazines aside, I turn over the larger envelope, assuming it’s information I ordered from a behavioral vet tech program. But the return address is Los Angeles. And my name and address are handwritten. In blocky capital letters I recognize.

I’m going to drain the adrenaline well tonight.

Hands shaking, I ease open the envelope. After all, it’s only paper, pen and words. Sticks and stones, right?

When I dump it out, I’m a little confused at first. It seems like just a bunch of random pieces of paper rubber-banded together: folded notebook paper, flyers for various campus activities, even ripped-out pages from books. Many of them are wrinkled like they’d been crumpled up into a ball.

As I pull off the rubber bands, one of them snaps, slapping my hand painfully. Hoping that’s not a warning of what’s to come, I unfold the top piece of paper.

Monday, August 15, 1981

Lucy,

You haven’t even left yet, but I want you to have mail waiting for you when you get to UMass. My dad did that for me freshman year, and it helped a lot with the homesickness.

So, hi.

I really believe everything we said. I want you to be free to meet all kinds of people. But I’m already jealous of all those people.

I don’t want you to forget about me and

FUCK

The last word takes up the second half of the sheet of paper.

When Ben never returned any of my letters after we broke up and I went off to school, I was so, so angry. Seems to be a behavior pattern of mine.

Despite all my jumbled feelings about whatever our relationship was or wasn’t, I did go out with a few guys. I had fun. Everything at school was so new and exciting, dating was just part of the package. But Ben was always there. Not in a creepy way or like he was looking over my shoulder judging me. Like a guardian angel. I felt safe stepping out of my comfort zone, because if I asked, I knew he’d hop on a bus and come find me.

He was right. Being on my own was good for me.

It just didn’t last.

But that wasn’t his fault.

Realizing I’ve been holding my breath, I take in a big one. And then I get up and open a bottle of wine. Herbal tea is not the right beverage for this trip back in time.

The next letter is written on the back of a typed assignment for some history class.

People assume that actors are good at expressing their emotions.

Well, this one isn’t. Maybe I am when it’s a character that somebody else wrote.

But my own emotions? Not so much. For instance.

I’m an expert at keeping what I feel about you hidden down a deep, dark well, never to see the light of day.

There’s a big angry scribble down the rest of the page. The next is on a sheet of fancy stationery, but it’s also the most crumpled.

Lucy,

You make everyone around you a better person without even doing anything. They just soak up your—your spirit, your Lucy-ness. It reaches inside everyone, and they are just a better person for having been around you.

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