Why am I always late? I berate myself for the millionth time
as I race toward the bus stop. I clutch my bag tightly to my chest and ignore
the stitch forming in my side. I push apart a couple that stop to stare at
something in a shop window across the street. They call out to me, but I ignore
them. My feet pound the pavement faster as the whoosh of air escaping the air
brakes engaging reminds me how late I am.
As the bus slowly rolls up to the curb, something catches my
attention out of the corner of my eye. All thoughts of catching the bus leave
my mind. I forget my tardiness. Instead, my mouth falls open as I look into a
familiar face from ten years ago.
“That can’t be.” I mumble as I step closer to the boy
standing at the mouth of the alley.
“Pete?” I call out.
He smiles at me but turns away.
“Wait! Pete? Wait!” I call out again, stepping toward the
alley.
I turn back toward the bus as the doors squeal closed. I
should be getting on board that bus not chasing some strange boy into an alley.
I know he can’t be my childhood sweetheart. Pete would be twenty-four. This boy
can’t be more than fourteen, the same age Pete was the last time I saw him. I
look back at the bus, watching it pull away before something pulls me back
toward the alley.
I begin berating myself aloud. “Even if it were him, and it
were ten years ago, he never wrote you back. Why would you want to talk to
him?”
A red-headed woman frowns and veers away from me as she
realizes I am talking to myself. I ignore her and step into the alley. The boy
stands halfway to the next street, watching me, waiting for me. I step closer.
He doesn’t move. I take a few more steps. I am close enough to see the same
sad, dark eyes that always looked straight through me. I smile. He smiles back,
the same shy smile that always won my heart even when we were arguing.
“Pete?” My voice comes out in a tentative squeak.
He turns away from me to step into a narrow opening in the
dark brick wall. I run the few steps to where he disappeared, stopping to peer
around the corner. The doorway stands empty. A pile of boxes leans against a
heavy metal door. A carefully folded piece of paper sits exactly in the middle
of the opening. I look up and down the alley, searching for any sign of
movement. I peer at the door speculatively, trying to figure out how it could
open without making a sound or dislodging the boxes. I lean over to pick up the
paper, taking in a sharp breath as familiar handwriting unfolds before me.
My Dearest Bella,
I know I am writing this letter far too late, but I needed
to write you as I promised I would. I was young and foolish when my family
moved. I thought the world was waiting for me and holding onto the love I felt
for you would somehow keep me from attaining the fame and fortune I thought
awaited me, so I let you go.
Don’t think that I never thought of you. I thought of you
almost every day, but by the time I realized how much I missed you, I knew it
was too late to reach back into the past and bring you into my future. I just
wish I could have. You’d have made my life so much better.
I hope you will forgive me for the foolishness of my youth.
I need your forgiveness now more than ever.
I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you.
I want you to be happy. Please be happy. Find someone who will be wise enough
to love you enough to keep their promises, and take care of yourself.
Love always,
Pete
I stare at the letter in confusion as soft warmth climbs to
my cheeks. I am sure he meant to say more, but what he did write makes me
unable to form questions in my mind. I gently fold the letter and slip it into
my purse. After one last slow scan up and down the alley, I slowly trek back to
the bus stop. I take the next bus even though it deposits me two blocks from my
house.
As I walk home, memories flood my mind. My lips tingle as I
think of my first kiss with Pete, my first kiss ever. Tears moisten my eyes as
I remember our last kiss, the last time I heard from him until the letter. How
did it even get into the alley? Did I really see the teenage version of him at
all? How could any of this be possible?
I am still struggling to find any logical explanation as I
open the door to my apartment. The red light on the answering machine announces
a message. I pick the mail up from the floor before stepping forward to press
the button. As I sort through the bills and junk, my mother’s voice fills the
room.
“Bella, baby, I just heard from Janice that her son, Pete,
passed away this morning. I know he was your first love, so I wanted you to
hear it from me. Call me back as soon as you get this. I love you.”
The answering machine beeps. Envelopes cascade from my hand
to the floor. I reach into my purse, pulling out the folded sheet of paper and
scanning it again. I read the words again and again, but they don’t make sense.
None of it makes sense.
I slowly cross the floor to sit down on the couch. My hands
still clutch the edges of the page, but I no longer read it. Slow tears cloud
my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I remain frozen like this until the phone
rings again. I get up to answer it, hoping that my mother will offer me some
semblance of sanity.
“Hey, mom, something weird happened today…”
