Letter in Retrospect

by Emma Barrie

Dear Attractive Male Friend of My Mother's,

You were forty-three.  Me?  Thirteen going on thirty-five.  I loved the way you loved your wife and child, but let’s face it: you and me, we were meant for each other.  The way you’d sometimes wink at me from across the table at Mom’s dinner parties.  That time I came back from the orthodontist, and you told me not to worry, that I really pulled off the clear braces look.  You let me sit in the front seat sometimes even though I didn’t weigh enough to set off the airbags.  Remember us?  That’s when we were wild.  When nothing mattered.
 
All those times we high-fived, I knew what you were really thinking: how could I be so young, and yet possess such an old soul?  How could I see straight through your façade and deep into your heart?  How did I understand you in a way even your closest friends never could?  I couldn’t say for sure.  But if I had to guess, I’d say it was because we both really loved Seinfeld.

I liked your button-down shirts.  Your leather wallet.  Your grown-up accoutrements.  At my Bat Mitzvah, you told me I kicked ass.  Way to be subtle.  Thanks for the present, by the way.  That Tiffany’s bracelet with that dangling silver heart.  You may as well have just flat-out told me you couldn’t wait until I was legal. 
 
I forgive you.  I forgive you for bringing her to my piano recital.  For putting your arm around her as you told me you loved my interpretation of Jolly Old Saint Nicholas.  For ruffling my hair and robbing me of all my dignity.  I forgive you.
 
Hey. 
 
Remember that time we all went out for ice cream?  I let you try some of my rainbow sherbet with bubble gum chunks inside.  I had never shared a spoon with anyone before. I just thought you should know. 

X
Emma