Unsent (1)

Dear J.,

I still remember the moment we met. Jeni was there. I remember thinking you were tall. We shook hands.

Later, Jeni fixed me up with Dave for that soiree. Do you remember that? I do, barely. I must have been drunk that night because my memory of it is very sketchy. But then, so is my memory of most things.

Then the year ended and we all went our separate ways. She transferred and I “went home” for the summer. We all converged at school again in September and I broke up with Dave. I remember him saying it was rude of me to wait until after the summer ended. As if he had missed out on hundreds of summer snogs due to my latent indifference.

Then you. After all that time we spent at the library, me consulting you on how to catch women. Pretending to study. Then that day on the bench, just outside those front steps of the library.

I remember that vividly, visually. I can still see us sitting there. I can smell the trees and feel the excitement in my chest when you said you cared for me. But there was the issue of Dave, your childhood friend. Dave, who’d be offended if we dated. Dave, a man about whom I never cared much interfering with the man I did.

So we tried each other on, slipping into each other slowly in some ways, quickly in others. I remember kissing you in your waterbed. That sexy waterbed. How beautiful your toned Karate body was. Watching you with those numchuks, feeling safe. Do you remember reading me that story you wrote? It was dreadful, but wonderful. It was yours.

I probably thought I was in love with you. I fell in love pretty easily in those days.

Then you told me I was “too much”. I can’t remember why, but I visually remember where. Your front door, as I was leaving. “You’re just… too much.” You said. Too much what? Too much emotion, perhaps? Too much energy? Too much fabulousness?

We didn’t see each other for months after that. At least not deliberately. At least not you deliberately seeing me. But I parked in that lot because you parked there. Just seeing your car every day gave me comfort, closeness. And we ran into each other a few times because of that. You cowering, me melting.

And so began our cycle. Several months pass, one of us calls, we get together, something goes wrong, several months pass. Three years of that until finally, a date. At that Italian place. Me telling you I don’t want to be tied down, you getting angry and telling me that was unfair. Unfair. I can see us sitting there, too. I remember the color red.

I graduated after that. First job. New life. I saw you one last time. Told you I was moving in with someone (mistake). Told you I was happy. Then I was gone.

But I tracked you down one last time. Both of us in graduate school. You came to visit. We drank. In the cab, you asked if I wanted you to be the father of my children. Never mind that I never wanted children (still don’t). I said yes. If I could be conned into having children, it would be with someone like you. Silly me. Too much beer that night.

Me, delusional thinking things might finally work out. You, horny thinking other things might finally work out. Neither of them did. In the morning, you tried to sneak out. I couldn’t believe it, you trying to sneak out like that. After so much time. After so much. After too much.

But you left. We never spoke again.

Years later, the internet gave me your email address. Don’t you just love technology? I sent you an email, innocently. You said you didn’t know who I was even though my email address had my full name in it. Liar. We exchanged about an email and a half before you insulted me.

And that was that.

Strangely, I still think about you. About how interesting you were. So athletic. So introspective and philosophical. I also see your 19-year-old body in my mind’s eye and yearn. I even found myself thinking just the other day that if I ran into you, I’d like to go ahead and shag you and be done with it. It’s been that long. That much time. That much change. All those years of me trying to create something from nothing, and now. Now, it would be so easy to accept the nothing but.

But maybe I’m just feeling frisky.

I’m not sure what to say to you at this juncture, but I feel there is still some unfinished business. Some holes that need to be sealed. It’s not as if I haven’t moved on, but every so often I consider the what ifs. What if I had shagged you then? Would you have tossed me away so easily? (Yes.) What if our last email exchange didn’t result in so much tension? Would we still be talking now? (No.) What if I ran into you today? Would I pretend I didn’t know you and escape in a big hurry so those old feelings didn’t have a chance to resurface? (Probably.)

Even though I bear so little resemblance to the 24-year-old you have probably forgotten, you’d probably still think I’m too much. Too intense. Too intelligent. Too independent.

Too much like something you want to avoid. Whatever that is.