Letters You Will Never Read

A Date

"So, tell me something unexpected about yourself," Said Jackson. The question was... intriguing.

The first time we went out it was to a pizza parlor, not a french winery. I didn't know Jack was this ... rich. I've never been especially rich. I hardly know how to eat pasta without making a mess of everything.

I considered his proposal (not marriage proposal, you dunce)... Jack was a well-meaning person, and I knew he wanted the best for me. Unfortunately, his idea of the best for me probably wasn't exactly the same as mine. For my own good he might give me away.

My mom tried that. After the disdainful therapist visit I was prescribed with serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors (SNRIs). They... well they didn't help. In fact, in the end it was mom who took them, overdosed, and probably could have lost custody of me if I'd pressed the point, but by then her presence didn't bother me as much since she tried to stay out of my business, "or else". She no longer questioned my "or else"s...

"I like to cook," I said.

Jack's smile brightened. "Really?" He said, "Like what?"

"Mushrooms, sauteed, with red onions and a bit of olive oil..." I smiled at the thought, "I've been on my own for the last year, and experimenting with different foods. Never ate out much when I lived with my Mom."

He nodded. I'd already told him how my parents divorced when I was eleven.

"How about you?" I said. "Tell me something unexpected."

He thought about it. "I've totalled three cars," He said.

I let out a surprised laugh. "Really!"

"It wasn't my fault!" He said. "I just happened to be in them when it happened. Messed up my back a bit."

"Really? And you're only twenty?" He's was two grades ahead of me. "How did that happen? And you drove me here! I should be afraid."

He just laughed. "No, no you shouldn't. ...It's a long story."

"Long stories are the ones worth telling," I said quietly. I'm ashamed to admit I was thinking of you.

It turned out to be a pretty long story, and maybe not as worth telling as I thought, but I listened anyway. As he talked his light brown eyes kept meeting mine. He did not stare directly, it was like he was terrified of looking at me for too long. Shy? The thought made me smile.

As we left the restaurant I wanted to ruffle his hair. He's got ruffly hair... the best kind. His smile is so genuine. He opened the door for me and he made fun of the way I walked.

On the way home we sung Beatles songs. I tried not to remember. I succeeded.

When he dropped me off he kissed me. It was only on the forehead, but it was sweet of him. It still makes me smile.

I realize now that I have never lived like this. People have never really looked out for me so openly, have gone out of their way to make my life the tiniest bit more liveable. This is how it is supposed to be; I'm supposed to end up with a wonderful, brilliant guy with a heart of gold, who will never let me down.

I'm not supposed to write about it to you. I'm not supposed to think about you. Jackson is such a good person, he deserves so much better, and it's killing me. I just may love him. It's killing me. It has to; I have to get rid of all my past, including you, just for his sake. Deadly.