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Maybe Dad stole your girlhood dreams, too, and when you finally found out, it was too late.
But I don’t want to be you, Mom. I read and watch people a lot so I can see red flags early on. I hang out on the outskirts of every situation so I’ll always have a way out and not be trapped like you.
I couldn’t be trapped with that stranger.
So I ran away and didn’t look back.
But now, I’m not sure if I did the right thing. Maybe I let my paranoia get the better of me and should’ve thought about it more.
After all, the masked stranger is the only person who’s ever listened to me blabber about Nietzsche and philosophy and the world for hours. He didn’t call me pretentious or a know-it-all. He didn’t tell me I was too smart for my own good and that I shouldn’t concern my brain with stuff like that.
He even debated with me and taught me philosophies and theories I didn’t know. I wrote them all down in my notebook to search through later.
Why does a stranger understand me better than people who’ve known me all my life? He even understands me better than you ever did, Mom.
I didn’t think about stopping him when he lifted his mask just enough to kiss me. Or when he carried me inside a cabin, removed my clothes, and took my virginity.
Callie says to bless my naïve heart because he seduced me so easily by playing on my nerd tendencies. She could be right, but her opinion doesn’t really matter, because she also said that he better be loaded.
Is it wrong that I want to find him, Mom? Talk to him again? Ask for his name and tell him mine?
Or was the whole connection a fantasy of my own making and I should finally wake up?
Two days later.
Mom,
I decided to find him, after all. If only to satisfy my curiosity.
Callie and I went back to the house in which the party was held, but the staff was of no help. Apparently, a few guests wore an Anonymous mask that night and they didn’t keep track of them.
So we went to that cabin he took me to, but it appeared abandoned and no people were in sight. Callie was scared shitless of the place and said we should go before we were abducted by some serial killer.
We walked into the nice part of town and I felt like a weight was sitting on my chest. Callie tried to cheer me up by buying us ice cream and singing off-key. She can’t hit a note to save her life, but her attempts offered much-needed comfort. She also pointed at two rich girls getting in their luxurious car and said one day, that would be us.
But I haven’t paid much attention, because my chest hurts.
Why does my chest hurt, Mom? It’s similar to when I found you sleeping and not breathing.
I hate it.
Five days later.
Mom,
I can’t stop thinking about the masked stranger and the conversations and the sex.
Whether it’s during class or in the house or when Aunt Sharon is making my life hell.
And my chest still hurts.
Callie says I’m experiencing a broken heart and stuffed me with ice cream and vanilla cake—that she probably stole. Even though I don’t really like sweets, I ate them all and even snatched her share.
Because Callie is a liar and a bad friend. How can I have a broken heart when I don’t even know him?
But that doesn’t stop me from going back to the nice side of town, walking aimlessly through it, and having no clue where to go. I even took Callie to that cabin again, but she started shaking, and since there was no one there anyway, we called it a day.
You once told me that those who love too hard get hurt badly, which I think is what happened to you.
