Everything changed. I could see in color again, every image vivid and crisp.
Over the last fifteen years, the pain of what had happened to us waxed and waned. Many times I tried to force myself to stop thinking about him, but there were too many reminders. I thought, if I ever saw him again, he’d look right through me, like I was a ghost from his past. That’s how he made me feel that summer after college: someone who no longer existed.
But when I saw him in the station, his eyes locked on mine. He recognized me instantly, and all I could see in his face was pure wonder. It was like he was seeing the sunset over the ocean for the first time. As my train disappeared into the tunnel, his expression turned to desperation, and that’s when I knew there was a missing piece to our story. What was behind his desperation? What happened to him in the last fifteen years that would send him running down the platform, his hand outstretched, his eyes full of longing?
I needed to find the answer. I had an idea of where I could find Matt, but I was too scared to look.
“Ms. Porter?”
“Yes, Eli?” I stared into the big blue eyes of one of my senior trombone players as I cleaned up sheet music from a table. We were in the band room at the high school where I taught.
“Do you know what Craigslist is?”
I smiled. “Of course. I’m not that old, Eli.”
He blushed. “I know you’re not.” He seemed nervous. “I’m asking because I saw your tattoo the other day when you put your hair up.” He swallowed.
“Go on,” I said, totally curious.
“ ‘Green-eyed Lovebird.’ That’s what it says, right?”
I nodded.
“Did someone used to call you that?”
“Yes, someone I used to know.” My pulse quickened at the thought. Where is he going with this?
He fished a folded rectangle of paper out of his pocket. “So remember when we did that band tournament and there was that girl who played the tuba from Southwest High?”
“Sure.” I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Well, I kind of thought we had a connection but neither of us acted on it. Anyway, I was looking to see if she posted a message for me in the ‘missed connections’ section of Craigslist when I saw this.”
He unfolded the paper and handed it to me.
To My First Wife, the Green-Eye Lovebird
We met fifteen years ago almost to the day, when I moved my stuff into the dorm room next to yours at Senior House.
You called us fast friends. I like to think it was more.
We lived on nothing but the excitement of finding ourselves through music and photography, lounging in Washington Square, and all the interesting things we did to make money. I learned more about myself that year than any other.
We lost touch in the summer when I went to South America. I came back and you were gone. There was nothing left in your empty dorm room but the old guitar and just a hint of your perfume. What was it? Lilac?
Our RA, the one who looked like David Bowie and smelled like fish sticks, said you went to travel the world. I hope you got to see the world. I hope life has treated you well.
I didn’t see you again until a month ago. It was Wednesday. You were rocking back on your heels, balancing on that thick yellow line that runs along the platform, waiting for the F train. I didn’t know it was you until it was too late, and then you were gone. You said my name, I saw it on your lips. I tried to will the train to stop, just so I could say hello.
After seeing you, all of the youthful feelings and memories came flooding back to me, and now I’ve spent the better part of a month wondering what your life is like. I might be totally out of my mind, but would you like to get a drink with me and catch up on the last decade and a half?
M
(212)-555-3004
My mouth was open in shock as I reread it to myself three times.
“Ms. Porter, is this letter for you? Do you know this M person?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice shaking. Tears began to fill my eyes. I reached out and hugged him. “Thank you.”
“That’s pretty cool. I didn’t think those posts ever worked. Good thing you have that tattoo. Are you gonna call the dude?”
“I think so. Listen, Eli, I really appreciate what you’ve done, but I need to head out. Can I take this?” I held up the paper.
“Of course. It’s yours.”
I gave him a grateful, teary smile, grabbed my things, and hurried to the steps at the front of the school to call Tati.
She answered right away. “Hello?”
“Hey, are you busy?”
“I’m at the salon,” she said. Soon after we graduated from college, Tati got dumped by Brandon. She immediately ran out, cut her hair very short, and dyed it jet black. She’d been wearing it that way for fifteen years, I think as a reminder of some kind. She hadn’t been in a committed relationship since Brandon, except for the one she had with her hairdresser.
“Can I meet you there?”
“Sure. What’s up? Why do you sound so weird?”
“I don’t.” I was breathing hard.