All the feelings of inadequacy I had just days before came rushing back. This whole thing had been too good to be true, I told myself. Of course, this wasn’t going to work out. I didn’t get to be happy. And look what I had done. Spent hours having sex with a man I hadn’t seen in years. What kind of woman was I, doing things I had never, ever done before last night? What Matty didn’t know was that not only had he been my first, but he’d been my only. I’d never slept with another man in all the years we’d been apart as I just couldn’t bear to give myself to anyone else. I had secretly always held onto the hope that I would one day be reunited with Matty, and I wanted to save myself for him. And even if I never saw him again, I still wanted Matty to be the only man I had ever made love to; even if that meant my one and only sexual experience was when I was seventeen.
And then it happened! There he was, at my college reunion. And within three days, we hadn’t just reconnected as friends, we’d become lovers, with promises of love and commitment forever. We were engaged, for crying out loud! I had agreed to marry Matty while wrapped naked in a towel. A few hours ago, I hadn’t cared what anyone else thought, but now the idea of people finding out what had transpired horrified me. I suddenly, once again, cared very much about what my friends and family would think of me if they ever found out how what I’d been doing with Matty.
Just then I saw the box of mementoes and photos that Matty and I had been going through the other day. I crawled over to it and pushed the lid aside, pulling out the contents on the top to get to the bottom where the shoebox full of notes was. I had re-tucked the letter addressed to Matty in the very bottom of it. I pulled the white envelope out and ran my fingers over his name, which I’d written in blue ink in October of my junior year of high school. I paused just a moment before sliding my finger under the flap to open the envelope. Inside was a torn-out piece of spiral-bound notebook paper. I unfolded it and read the words I had written sixteen years ago in the flowery handwriting of a teenage girl:
“Dear Matty,
How are you? I’m okay. I hope you are doing well in your new school. I was hoping I would have heard from you by now, but I guess you are busy. Junior year is going okay. Algebra II is so hard; I’s already behind. I have three classes with Krista and one with Jimmy. We still eat lunch with our same group, but we can now leave campus during the lunch hour. We usually drive over to a fast food restaurant to eat. I’m already tired of the greasy hamburgers.
Well, the reason I am writing is because I have something I need to tell you. This is really hard for me to write down, but I think that you should know about it. The other day at school, I suddenly had a sharp pain in my stomach and started bleeding. I guess I passed out, because the next thing I knew I was in the hospital. My mom told me that I was okay, but she said I’d had a miscarriage. The doctor said I was seven weeks pregnant, but that the baby wasn’t developing right. That’s why I lost the baby. I know you know what happened seven weeks ago. The doctor told my mom that I didn’t do anything to cause it; sometimes these things just happen. He also told her it didn’t mean I couldn’t have kids when I grew up.
My mom wasn’t even mad at me; she was just really worried. I didn’t want her to tell my dad, but she said she had already done so. But she said he wasn’t mad, either. I guess he isn’t exactly mad, but he sure seems disappointed as he won’t even look me in the eye. I had to stay the night at the hospital; and I also had to talk to a social worker about how I’d gotten pregnant to begin with. I guess they wanted to make sure I hadn’t been attacked or forced to have sex. I didn’t want to tell anyone it was you, but my mom guessed right away. So, I did tell the social worker that I had done it with a guy friend, but that we both agreed to do it. I didn’t tell her your name, and my mom swears she didn’t either. My mom said that since the baby was gone that there was no need to get in touch with your parents about it, so don’t worry about that.
My folks are keeping me home for the rest of the week. My mom told me to tell Krista that I had an ovarian cyst. I don’t even know what that is, but once I told Krista that, she told everyone at school. So, I don’t think anyone suspects what really happened. The doctor prescribed me pain pills as well as something to help me not feel so sad. Both make me tired, so I’ve been sleeping a lot.
Anyway, I know this is a weird letter.
