[FICTION] Late Delivery

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…”