One rainy, cold Saturday, when I was decked out in some of my warmest sweats, I’d found it when I’d gone looking for a flashlight in case the power went out. We don’t often get more than a dusting of snow in Georgia, but we do get sleet and ice. The ice is heavy on the power lines and causes lots of them tocome down. So, I had wanted to be prepared in case the power went out.
And that’s when I’d found the bag.
I’d grabbed it, settled on my couch in front of the crackling fire, and opened the first journal.
Natalie,
If you’re reading this, I hope it means that we’re friends again. Because I have to tell you—life without you in it isn’t much fun. I keep thinking of things I want to tell you. Because of what I did, you understandably don’t want to hear from me right now. Hugh, my therapist, told me I should just write down whatever I wanted to say.
So, I will.
First, I want to say I’m sorry. I know apologies are over-used sometimes. But I really mean it. Somewhere along the way, I lost track of who I was, who I wanted to become, and I hurt you in the process. It wasn’t okay, Nat. No excuses. I knew you wouldn’t want a friends with benefits situation. I knew I should have treated you better than turning around and sleeping with some woman after we had one of the best weekends of my entire life.
The truth is that I got scared. And it finally led to me getting help. I know that’s a good thing, but I sure as hell wish it had been something else that finally got me to go to therapy instead of something that hurt you.
I love you, Nat. I’m in love with you. I think I’ve known it for years now but haven’t wanted to admit it to myself. Well, here I am admitting it. You’re it for me. I’ll never want anyone else the way I want you.
That’s it for now. More later.
Love,
Tim
P.S. I’ve been thinking of taking up knitting so I can knit Anne and Gilbert little scarves and hats. Is that weird?
When I got to the end, I was both laughing and crying. He’d written this about a week after I’d left town. He’d known he was in love with me all that time.
His entries ranged from hilarious to heart-breaking, and I read them all.
Natalie,
You know how I told you Mom thinks the lady who moved in across the street is a killer? She won’t let it go. Last week she convinced me to dress all in black, wait until it was dark outside, and then the two of us went and looked through her windows. I hate to admit it, but there are some pretty strange things in that lady’s garage.
Still, she’s not a serial killer, right?
Love,
Tim
P.S. If I get caught the next time we do it (because Mom assures me therewillbe a next time), will you bail me out of jail?
I cackled thinking of Tim and his mother dressed like that and peeking through this poor lady’s windows. What the hell was Lynne thinking?
Natalie,
I dream about you all the time. I can’t stop. I once dreamed that our one beautiful weekend never stopped and we got married and lived happily ever after like some sort of fairy tale couple. It was such a beautiful dream, I cried when I woke up and realized it wasn’t real.
Love,
Tim
P.S. I wish time travel was real. If it was, I’d travel back to that weekend and make the dream come true.
That one had me wiping my eyes. I wish that could’ve been our reality, too.
Natalie,
Today at the Piggly Wiggly, your old neighbor Mrs. Funkendweller hit on me. I’m not kidding. I was in the wine section, and she asked for help getting one of the expensive bottles out of the case for her. Of course, I did it. Then she asked if I had plans for the evening. Then she said she’d heard I was ‘a lady killer’ in bed. What. The. Fuck. I told her I had plans, and she said she’d take a raincheck. Now every time I see her, she waves at me in this really flirty way and shakes her hips a lot when she walks. I’m afraid she might break one of them.
