What did I write? I no longer remember. I must have said some sorries in there, and also reminded her that I had forgiven her, but it was still difficult to forget a few things. I told her everything that I had wanted to say from the first day to the last. I told her how I felt about her after high school, and what it felt like once more to have contact with her just five to six months before that moment.
Maybe the reason I do not remember it all is because the words are no longer important to me. What mattered was that I made contact.
I also sent her a copy of the long poem that I had written because I felt like it described what I was feeling and thinking better than any other words that I could have said to her. Whether or not she was able to understand the Tagalog verses of it is a mystery to me.
The one thing that I distinctly remember telling her in that letter was that I wanted to see her once again, even if for just one day or one minute. In fact, I told her when and where I wanted to see her, in a neutral location free from memories. I also informed her that it was up to her whether she wanted to show up. My conditions were simple: she could meet me at the prescribed location at the prescribed time or she could just ignore it. If she did not show up, I promised her that I would no longer try to contact her in any way; I would forever step out of her life and that letter would be the last she ever heard from me.
I folded the pages together and sealed them in an envelope addressed to her house, assuming that she had not moved since graduating from high school. Knowing that she went to school to one of the nearby colleges, I felt it safe to assume as much.
After placing the stamp on it and slipping it into the mail slot, all I could do was wait. My plans were to meet her on a Wednesday afternoon the week after at a coffee house. After that was anybody’s guess.
One day later, I received a phone call. It was Jackie. She was calling my cell phone. Not knowing the number on the display, I picked it up, feeling that maybe it could have been her, which actually made me more reluctant to answer.
“Hello?”
She answered on the other end of the line and informed me that she had received my letter. Her tone was steady. Mine was nonchalant.
Then, she informed me that she was busy that coming Wednesday and asked if we could move the day. I was open to any suggestion as long as the conditions still held true. She asked if we could instead meet the day after—Thursday—so I obliged her request.
“Okay,” I said to her. “I’ll see you then.” And just as quickly as the call had come, the conversation ended.
Those were my very last words to her. I still felt some bitterness towards her, so I wanted to cut the call short. I preferred to talk to her in person rather than over the phone. After all, that was what I stated in my letter. I was going to stick to it, especially now that she had requested a change of days, herself.
I did not tell her that I would call her back, nor did I tell her that I would call her that following Thursday. What I said was all I said. “I’ll see you then.”
Again, I waited.
The week passed along well enough. I would go to school during that summer to tutor summer school students. A few regulars had begun frequenting the tutoring center to escape the heat and use me to their advantage. I did not mind. My pay was reasonable and the air conditioning was free. Some of the students I tutored were becoming more than just acquaintances, so my time was not wasted.
The Thursday came, and I went to the prescribed meeting location. I ordered a vanilla crème blended drink and sat down at a table near a window, facing one of the doors. I sipped my drink and opened my book. Then, I simply let the time pass, reading and waiting.
After one hour, I was still one of the only customers inside, still reading my borrowed book and sipping on my drink.
Two hours passed. Then three hours. The fourth hour came, and there was still no sign of Jackie. I did not understand why she would call to change the meeting date and not show up. But, on the other hand, I fully understood that if she no longer wanted to see me, she was never obliged to do so ever again.
I managed to get halfway through Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code that day, eventually finishing it the day after because its story was just so exciting.
As the fourth hour closed, I closed my book and stood up. I threw my drink in the trash as I walked out of the coffeehouse and admired the color in the sky. Next-door was a fast food Italian restaurant that had a drive-thru. As I drove out of my space, I headed for the drive-thru window and then drove directly home.
That was that. I never called or wrote Jackie again. In return, she never called or wrote me either. I am still fulfilling my end of the prescribed conditions that I will no longer have anything to do with her life.
It felt like such a sad ending to such a long story and a major part of my teenage life. Stories never ended that way in movies and on television. There was always something more exciting. My story, however, merely ended like the predicted end of the universe: not with a bang, but a cold chill.
That September, I turned 20. I was no longer a teen. I also began my third year in college, soon to involve myself in the most daunting of the upper division physics classes required for my degree.
I just could not believe that it was finally over. And, just like after everything I finish, all I could do was sit back and wonder what was to come next.
No comments:
Post a Comment