[title subtitle=”WORDS Liesel Schmidt”][/title]
My curiosity over the past sixteen years had been a constant ebb and flow, heightening every so often to the point that I would hunt for any and every scrap of information, clicking through page after page in Google searches, scrolling through Facebook. I did it all, hoping to find something on the one name that haunted my memory. And then I saw it: a current listing. Name, phone number, and address accompanied by various facts about his past residences and family members, none of whom were a wife.
I took a deep breath and let my fingers wander over the screen of my phone, entering one digit at a time into my text messages before I typed out words that made my heart beat faster with every letter. Hi, Matthew. It’s Annie Wallace. Do you remember me?
*******
The sound of silence is deafening when you’re waiting for an answer, and over the next two days, I was a constant bundle of nerves. Every chime of my text messages sent a wave of anxiety over me, leaving me wondering what if it was Matthew and what it would say. My sister’s disapproval over the whole thing didn’t help, which left me second-guessing something that I had no way of undoing. Two painful days of waiting later, a response I had been hoping for and dreading finally came.
Hi, Annie.
I could almost hear the pounding of my heart as I read those two words over and over again.
Hi, Annie.
As long as I’d been waiting, I wasn’t sure what to say next. Do you know that you broke my heart? Do you know how much I loved you? Do you ever think of me? I wanted to say all of those things, but I knew I couldn’t.
It’s been a long time. How have you been? I typed.
Three little dots chased themselves over the screen as a reply formulated on the other end.
I’m good. Made Lt. Col. I’m almost at my 20 and can retire soon, but I think I’ll hang out a while longer. How are you?
I felt my eyes widen. It really had been a long time. I wondered what he looked like now, at forty-one. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been twenty-five.
I’m fine. I’m a writer now. I paused. Should I say that I wasn’t married? No. He hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t offered up any information on that subject himself.
So where are you living now? I hit Send, satisfied that the question was innocuous enough. I didn’t want to show my hand and let him know how far my research had gone. After all, this was a phone number he’d had for quite a long time.
More dots.
They moved me up to DC; he shot back.
Part of me was relieved that he wasn’t so close that we could meet for coffee, the other wishing that he was. Still, I’d seen it in all my searches and knew right where he was before he’d told me. This was just confirmation that sometimes the Internet really did get it right.
I stared at the screen and wondered what to say next. There were so many things I could say, so many things I’d always imagined saying in some fantasy scenario where I’d run into him on the street. Of course, it hadn’t ever happened; and now here I was, sitting with a phone in my hand and at a loss for words.
DC, huh? That’s definitely a change from our sleepy little area, isn’t it? Even as I tapped out the words, I shook my head at the inane conversation that seemed to be playing itself out under my fingertips. But really, what choice did I have? It had been so long. And it was ridiculous to expect him to remember our time together colored through the same lenses as I did. I’d loved him, and he hadn’t returned the feelings, simple as that. But it hadn’t been. Not really.
Very big change. But I do like the area, and I enjoy my work.
I couldn’t help but smile at that—this from the guy who’d considered Top Gun to be the best movie ever made and who, whenever a fighter jet passed overhead, would grin and say, “That’s the sound of freedom.”
That’s important. I’m glad you’re doing well, Matthew. I know it’s probably strange hearing from me after so many years. I paused, wondering how to explain it. I was just catching up with some old friends, and I thought I’d reach out. There. That sounded innocent enough. And plausible.
It’s good to hear from you, he replied.
I blinked at the screen. That was a relief. At least he didn’t seem to think the whole thing odd. But he also hadn’t given me any real clue that he actually remembered who I was. I decided to test him. Interesting fact—you and I met around this time of year… I trailed off on the text, anxious to see what he sent back.
I remember. I hadn’t been in town that long and I think Ryan was still crashing on the floor of my apartment. Good times.
It was all I needed. He remembered.
They were. I wrote back. But what about those times I had to smile at you while you were breaking my heart? And why did I let you?
Even though I’d started this exchange, I almost willed it to stop. I felt everything pressing down on my chest, all those days I’d spent wondering how everything about someone could be so right if it wasn’t meant to be. All those tears I’d shed over a life that would never be mine, even at the same time as I was in the middle of something that could easily pass for a serious relationship. It had been painful, but the pain of it seemed worth it on the off chance that he would wake up and see what was right in front of him.
He just never had.
I looked back at my phone, realizing I’d been lost in thought. Minutes had ticked by without another response from his end, and I wondered if one was coming.
I’m glad you reached out. Three little dots danced on the screen. I know it’s been a long time, but I want to apologize for how things were left with you.
It took a minute for his words to register.
What do you mean? I typed back, feeling my heart pound and the color rise in my face.
I didn’t treat you with the respect I should have. I knew your feelings, and I didn’t handle them the way you deserved. I’m sorry about that.
Tears stung my eyes and clouded my vision.
What brought you to this realization? The wisdom of age, or some other source of enlightenment? I asked.
Marriage and divorce do a lot to give you perspective. It was an honest answer, and I appreciated his candor.
I imagine they do. Thank you for that, Matthew. What else could I say? I was glad to know that he knew what had happened—really happened—and took responsibility for the way he’d kept me spinning.
So, what now? I typed. Indeed, what now?
Now, I guess maybe we could start being what you said before. Friends? His words were both kind and hopeful, and I remembered the crooked smile of the young pilot I’d known so long ago.
Friends.
Six months later…
“Hang on, Maggie, there’s someone knocking on my door,” I said into the phone, getting up from my desk to see who was there. The past six months had a whirlwind of work. I’d also done a lot of healing from those old wounds, and Matthew and I had been talking almost every day.
I padded to the door in my bare feet, noting the fact that I’d barely taken time to put on mascara and change out of my pajamas that morning. Not bothering to look through the peephole, I opened the door, expecting to find only a package.
The phone fell from my hand and clattered to the floor.
“Hi, Annie,” said the man standing there.
And somewhere in the world, Colin Hay was surely singing “Waiting for My Real Life to Begin.”
CALL OUT
Read Part I of Songs We Remember in our December, 2020 issue by clicking this link.
