A Love Letter — 15 Years Later
Thunder: Intimately Intricate & The Writing Cooperative
Sweetheart,
I’ve thought about that night countless times. Who knew that a summer thunderstorm would leave me wondering what could have been for the rest of my life.
Even though it was 15 years ago, I remember every single detail.
I remember finally settling in for the evening in my tiny room in Queens. Outside, I could see clouds exploding with light followed by the slow rumble of thunder. It wasn’t raining, but even inside, the humidity was so thick everything was damp. As a native west coast girl, I firmly believed that the east coast cast down its own unique punishment in the form of insufferable weather.
Exhausted after completing the final week as an advisor at a summer teacher training program, I relished in the dark silence and relaxed into mindless solitude for the night. I didn’t notice or care about my own sticky sweat, ripe with whatever germs and grime NYC provided.
My mind drifted to California — I was moving across the country in a few days. After six years on the east coast, I was ready to return to my roots. No humidity. Inviting temperatures. Big mountains. Slower pace. More space.
But you wouldn’t be there.
With my thoughts on the beach in Santa Monica, it took a few seconds to shake the cobwebs when my phone buzzed with the sound of a text.
Ugh. I already told everyone I was in for the night. I ran through a list of potential texts as I begrudgingly got out of bed to check.
Never in a million years did I imagine the text would be from you.
I fell in love with you the second I saw you at that concert in college four years earlier. Your light pink button-down with rolled-up sleeves partnered with khaki shorts and flip flops were the perfect combination of casual prep — delicious.
When you introduced yourself, I nearly fell over. We instantly connected over the Red Sox and running.
My stomach did somersaults when you told me you were an officer in the campus organization I’d just been accepted to — an easy (and awesome) excuse to see you again.
I knew I loved you. And that you were way out of my league. Dammit. No way on earth he’ll be interested in me. Don’t get your hopes up, I told myself.
But I did. The more I got to know you, the more I loved you.
We volunteered. We partied. We dissected every play the Red Sox made. We shared our hatred for the Yankees. We clocked countless miles. We had fun.
We talked. You told me about the girls you liked. I gave you advice. You got the girl. I died inside every time. Why not me? Because he’s perfect, that’s why.
I knew there was no chance. Maybe that made me love you more.
When you graduated, I tried to get over you since I still had another year in school. I’m not good enough anyway.
It didn’t work though. I didn’t get over you.
Remember when you’d call me after drinks with clients and share a hint of deeper feelings towards me? Hearing how much you cared about me filled my heart with joy and a sliver of hope.
But heartbreak always followed. In the morning, all would go unspoken.
I was particularly crushed after the night you called me to pick you up downtown. I had an exam the next day, but I immediately pushed studying aside and jumped in the car. On the way home, you asked me why I’d never been interested in you.
What? I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.
Before you got out of the car, you thanked me for being “your doll”. I loved it when you called me that.
Then you kissed me. Passionately.
Time stood still.
You kissed me again. You went inside.
Blood raced through my veins and my heart burst out of my chest. I cried all the way home. I was deliriously happy. I was utterly devastated. You kissed me. But I knew we’d never mention it again.
I was right.
After I graduated, I moved to New York City to teach. Being a first-year teacher was the hardest thing I had ever done. Some days were particularly awful and I wanted to give up. You always encouraged me and refused to let me quit. You were my biggest cheerleader. I loved you even more. I didn’t know that was possible.
As time passed, my feelings for you did not dissipate, but I did get a firmer grip on reality. You were in Boston, I was in New York, and I had no plans of staying on the east coast long term. I rationalized that you’d always have a piece of my heart, but I needed to move on. If you were going to fall in love with me, you already would have. A long time ago.
My mom once asked if I had finally gotten over you. I didn’t respond. Next, she casually said, “You should be interested in the guys that actually like you too.” Ouch. That stung. Everyone saw it but me.
We talked less frequently. When we would connect though, all of my feelings would come rushing back, making it even harder. Weeks went by between phone calls. Calls turned to texts. Texts were fewer and farther between.
I thought your chapter in my life was written.
When I opened my phone to check the text that stormy night in Queens, you can’t begin to imagine my shock to see it was from you. Every disgruntled thought I’d had about being disturbed vanished.
“Hey doll! I’m in the City. Where are you?”
What?
I was confused. Was I reading the text correctly? Was I dreaming? I was so exhausted that wasn’t a stretch. Millions of questions flooded my brain instantly. What is he doing in New York? If he wanted to see me, why is he just telling me now? Is this really him? What’s the catch?
I formulated my jumbled thoughts into coherent questions. You explained that you were supposed to be out on a boat off Long Island for a bachelor party, but your trip got canceled because of the thunderstorm. Instead, the party moved to the City. Made sense.
“Will you come meet me?” That one little question carried the weight of the world.
I knew if I did, I’d fall in love just to be heartbroken. Again. This time, it would be worse since I was moving. I’d already mentally and emotionally said goodbye to you. My heart was in a safe place.
But you wanted to see me. “You’re leaving in a few days. You have to come.”
I rattled off some legitimate, but weak excuses:
— It’s late. Who cares? It’s the weekend.
— I don’t want to crash the bachelor party. The guys want to see you too.
— You don’t really want to see me, you’re just being nice because I am moving. Shut up.
— There’s a huge thunderstorm outside. I don’t want to get electrocuted or soaked or both. It’s not raining anymore and you haven’t been struck by lightning yet.
— I don’t want to go all the way to the City just to turn around again. You can stay at your old apartment. Your roommates will love the surprise.
— It’s impossible to get a cab in Queens even during normal hours. You’ve got to try.
— Of course, I’ll try.
Wide awake and overwhelmingly optimistic, I jumped into motion. I put on the cutest clean clothes I could find and threw my curly hair on top of my head. Who cares about a shower, I thought, I’m just going to see him for a few minutes — that’ll be it. That is if I even make it to the city in the first place. There are too many variables in the way of this actually working. This is too good to be true.
I ventured out into the dark, powered by adrenaline.
It didn’t cross my mind that in order to try to find a cab, to try to make it to the city, to try to see you, I had to wander around Queens in the middle of the night by myself. Not the safest decision I’ve ever made, but I was on a mission to see you. I had to.
I called the Yellow Cab folks. When I told the dispatcher where I was, he laughed at me, told me no way, and hung up on me. Strikeout.
Time and blocks ticked by. My hopes were rapidly deflating. Doubt and disappointment increased, as did the crack of lightning and booming roar of thunder.
It was like the thunder was shooting reminders of reality at me.
— Crash. I should have known it would never work.
— Crack. He’s still way out of my league. Nothing has changed.
— Boom. I’m such a sucker for love. I’ve loved him forever and look where it’s gotten me. Nowhere but hurt.
— Rumble. Even if I do find a cab, I’m never going to be able to find him in NYC. They are bar-hopping, and last time I checked, New York has A LOT of bars.
— Crash. Crack. Boom. This is ridiculous. It’s time to go home.
Alone, discouraged, and now acutely aware of my surroundings, I turned towards home. My hopes dashed once again.
As if my fairy godmother was watching — at the moment I lost all hope — a cab appeared. Divine intervention, for sure.
“Girl, whattaya doin’? You lost your mind?” Hmmm…Where to start?
I hopped in. Disco music blasted from the speakers, which for some reason seemed to be the perfect beat for this wild night. Finally on the way to find you — in the middle of New York City.
“There’s got to be more to the story here, honey. You chasing a boy?”
I’m never going to see this cabbie again, what have I got to lose?
In what felt like one breath, I summarized my undying love and the current situation:
“I’m going to find the man I’ve been in love with for years. He texted me and said he wants to see me. He lives in Boston and I didn’t know he was here. I am moving to the west coast in a couple of days and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again…”
The cabbie interrupted me…
“Girl! I’ve chased so many men in my life. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories…” Well, I am not sure I believe MY OWN story at this point. It’s still too good to be true.
“We will find him! This is true love. ” Yes, one-sided true love.
My heart seemed to sync in time to the rhythm of the disco beats. The cabbie gave me a pep talk the entire ride. He told me every single thing I wanted to hear. He told me everything I wanted you to hear.
— You’re beautiful! Look at you!
— This man would be crazy not to sweep you off your feet.
— What the hell has he been thinking all these years?
— You got this, girl.
As we crawled across town, my doubts grew from major to catastrophic. It’s more likely I’ll get struck by one of these lightning bolts than actually find him in the middle of NYC.
We pulled up to the nameless address you gave me. My stomach twisted in knots. There’s no way he can still be at the same bar. I’m going to be chasing all night.
I thanked the cab driver profusely for the encouragement, his unwavering faith, and his killer tunes.
He drove off. I froze. I almost threw up.
You might be inside that door.
I handed the bouncer my ID. He gave me a quizzical look, which I didn’t understand at first.
“Are you meeting people here?” Yeah, why?
“You know this is a strip club, right?” That funny look makes sense now.
Of course you were at a strip club. It’s. A. Bachelor. Party.
If this were a movie, this is about the time where you would crack a joke: “A single girl walks into a strip club…” But it wasn’t a joke.
I turned the corner and our eyes locked immediately. You were there. You were looking at me. You were smiling at me. This wasn’t a dream.
I walked in front of the stage, in between the strippers and their gaping onlookers. I didn’t care that I was in the way.
We met. You picked me up. We embraced for what felt like a perfect eternity. You kissed my cheek. You squeezed me closer. I was in heaven. And for once, I knew you were too.
Though we joined the group, the two of us were in an alternate universe. Our chemistry was palpable. I felt it. You felt it. Your friends saw it. I bet even the strippers noticed.
You held my hand. You kept kissing my cheek. Just kiss me for real — dammit. You told me I was beautiful. You told me you missed me more than I knew.
Oh my God, I love you.
Reality knocked on the door of my euphoria, but I pretended not to hear it. Don’t fall too hard. It’s only circumstantial. You’re moving. He’s going to break your heart again.
When it was time to leave, I instantly came back to earth. It was time to say goodbye. Fuck, this hurts already.
“Come with us.” What? No way.
“I don’t want to crash the party.”
“I already told you you’re not. Come with me. Please.”
“You sure?” I know I am going to get crushed regardless, why not enjoy a few more hours of bliss?
“Yes. You have to come.”
As our party walked towards Broadway to find cabs, you gently grabbed my hand and slowed us down. What is going on? What are we doing?
You stopped and turned to face me. He changed his mind. He doesn’t want me to come. He got wrapped up in the bachelor party fun and he’s started thinking rationally again. Get ready for the change of plans — and heart.
You didn’t say anything. You just looked at me. Holy shit. Is he going to drop a bomb on me? Like HE’S the one getting married? Brace yourself.
You let go of my hand and pulled me toward you. You kissed me. Everything I never said to you came out in that kiss. I love you. I always have. I always will.
The sound of my heart replaced the sound of thunder.
The next few hours were a blur. All I remember is you. I remember your hand resting on my leg. I remember you gently touching the small of my back to pull me closer. I remember your whispers in my ear. I remember your tender kisses. I remember your deep brown eyes — piercing mine — unlocking the gates to my soul.
Ultimately, the moment I dreaded arrived. It was time for my Cinderella story to come to an end. I could feel myself transforming into the real me and my glass slippers were turning back to strappy sandals. You were slipping away. My fairy tale was coming to an unhappy ending.
I bit my lip as I hugged the rest of the group goodbye. No tears now. Save the ugly crying for later. Hold on just a few more minutes.
It was your turn. I couldn’t make eye contact. The past few hours were the best in my entire life. Without a doubt.
“I want to come with you back to your old apartment.” He wants to do what?
“What about the party? How are you going to get home tomorrow? All that’s in my old room is a desk chair and a stripped bed. I don’t even have a blanket.”
“We’ll be fine. And I’ll figure tomorrow out then.”
This is not happening right now. He is not coming home with me. No. Fucking. Way.
“Please.”
I didn’t know what to think, feel, say, do. I took a deep breath. I held your hand. I walked with you towards my old apartment.
I gave you the tiptoe tour of our tiny place. You went to my room while I searched for blankets elsewhere.
This is when time began to slow down for me. And I know it did for you too.
“I’m going to take a shower. Come with me.”
Time stopped. My heart and my brain battled each other. I’d been dreaming for you to want me for years. You finally did.
But it came with a hefty price — my heart. What I wanted most, hurt me the most — my love for you.
I don’t know what to do.
That’s the last time we saw each other.
We’ve kept in close touch all of these years. You’re a constant in my life, and I know I am in yours. We vent about the bullshit we both face at work, relive our marathon glory stories, gloat about our nieces and nephews, and share our tales of world travel. We talk baseball with each other in a way we can’t with anyone else. Our play-by-play coaching from the couch is definitely going to get us to the big leagues.
We are completely emotionally vulnerable. We share our inner demons.
We help each other through relationships. We support each other through ugly breakups and even your divorce.
But there is always a catch.
“You should have gotten in the shower that night,” you’ll say. And I am instantly back in my old apartment.
“What would have happened? Would things be different?” I’ll ask.
You always pause…
“Maybe…I don’t know…Probably…Yes.”
Every time I hear thunder, I am brought back to that night. I know you are too.
With every rumble, I hear, “What if?…”
I don’t know the answer.
I do know I love you. And deep inside, I know you love me too.
Always,
Your Doll
