Authors: Nicola Graham
Luckily, I can blame my change of mood on jet lag or too much to drink. Diana doesn’t seem to
question my excuses, and she and Terry sit close to one another, chatting. Joe doesn’t mention to anyone that he has bumped into Matthew at the bar, and I am grateful for that; he kindly spares me the embarrassment. I sit quietly, reliving the moment in slow motion over and over again, analyzing every second of the way Matthew looked at me from the bar. Why did he leave? Does he hate me that much? Was that his girlfriend? Is she the reason he stopped writing? My mind scatters, frantically searching for every possible answer. The next hour passes slowly.
Spandau Ballet’s ballad “True” comes on, signaling the end of the night, and Terry and Diana head to the dance floor. Joe follows with yet another new lady friend, leaving me alone in the booth feeling sorry for myself. As I am about to go to the bathroom to pass some time, I look up to find Matthew standing in front of me, hand outstretched in invitation. He is alone. I am unable to resist, and as if in a trance, I reach up. Hand in hand, we silently walk a few steps to the edge of the dance floor, and he pulls me close against his now six-foot-something manly frame. My hands instinctively go to his shoulders, which are broader and firmer than those of the sixteen-year-old boy I left behind. His hands fan out against my lower back, urging me closer to him.
Our bodies have physically matured in the year and a half we have been apart, but they still blend together perfectly, almost like we grew at the same pace. Savoring the reunion, I melt into him as we dance. I feel his hand move up my back, urging me closer to him, my small breasts pressing firmly against his chest. I dissolve into him, fitting
seamlessly into his frame as if we are molded for one another. Despite the intense physical attraction raging inside me, I also feel a calmness while wrapped in his embrace. For the first time since I moved away, I feel normal again, like my true self … whole.
Matthew’s hand shifts to the back of my neck, touching the skin gently at my hairline, and then, ever so slowly, he traces my jaw with his fingertips. His dark eyes stare into mine; my wide, innocent eyes watch him back. He cradles my cheek in his palm, his thumb stroking my lip as he lowers his head and kisses me softly.
I am taken back by the sensations in my heart, in my stomach, and throughout my body. Matthew has become a man in every sense of the word. He looks like a man, and his body feels like a man’s body. Meanwhile, all of a sudden, I feel naive and inexperienced. I have kissed a lot of boys since moving to California, specifically to make me forget this man who is currently invading my senses. Yet, not a single one of them has ever made me feel the way Matthew has. With a simple touch, he has ignited something within me that is normally dormant. Most boys shove their tongues down my throat, groping at my breasts to catch a feel, forcefully pushing their hard bodies against me, thinking it’s a real turn-on, when in all truth, this simple closed-mouth kiss and soft caress has affected me more than any experience in my life so far.
As I feel his lips leave mine, I am drunk on him, lost in the dream of what is happening inside me, and as my eyes flutter open, he is gone, vanished
into the crowd. I’m shocked for a moment, staring into the empty space in disbelief. I search but I cannot see him or figure out which way he went. My fingertips run over my lips, still moist from his kiss. I am baffled as to why he came back, why he left, and why not a single word has been spoken between us.
I dream of Matthew that night. We make love under a weeping willow by the river, our naked bodies intertwined under the full moon. Like a blessing from heaven, the moonlight casts its glow upon us as we lay wrapped up in each other. I see his deep, smoldering, brown eyes stare into my soul as he lies next to me and cradles my face in his palms. His full lips softly tempt mine to part and open up to him, his tongue discovering me, teasing me, tasting me. His hands explore every inch of my body, and as I gently touch him, he shudders and groans, kissing me more deeply, showing me with his mouth what he wants from me. Pulling him into me, we gloriously give ourselves to one another.
The next day, Diana and I meet at eleven o’clock for coffee at Dalton’s Café. I confess to her about what happened at the club, and she is shocked. Joe went home with the last girl he was with, so she and Terry didn’t know Matthew was there, let alone that he came back and danced with me. As we enjoy our coffee, she tells me what happened after I left Harptree for America. Things were all right at first; they saw Sully all the time, and he constantly talked about me. When school finished for Terry and Sully, they both went to find work at a local building site. Terry worked on roofs, while Sully took an apprenticeship for interiors. They didn’t see each
other much. About three months later, Terry heard that Sully had started seeing a girl called Sharon. It turned out that Sharon was the boss’s daughter at Mason and Son’s, the builder that was employing them. Rumor had it that Sharon had a keen eye for Sully from the get-go. Apparently, this was about the time Sully stopped writing to me, or I stopped writing to him.
Diana explains that she and Terry thought it was best to stop bringing Sully up in her letters so I could settle into my new life in California. Sully began to distance himself from them, and life moved on. Joe stays in touch with him occasionally, she says, but Terry and Diana don’t seem to bump into Sully anywhere; their social circles do not overlap. Sully has moved out of his mum’s house, and Terry only rarely sees him on the building site. The friendships have grown apart.
We chat throughout the afternoon, strolling arm in arm through the town. We don’t pay attention to anyone else; we talk endlessly, because it’s such a precious rarity that we can’t duplicate in our letters. Diana gets me caught up on our old friends’ gossip and her plans with Terry for their future. Diana has one year left at school, then she hopes to get a secretarial job in town so she and Terry can move in together and eventually get married. She talks about both of them coming to California one day for a holiday, and we talk about me moving back when I am old enough and how great that will be. By the time I have to leave later in the day, we have reconnected again as if no time has passed, and saying goodbye is incredibly difficult. Returning to being pen pals again doesn’t seem fair; I will miss
my friend so much.
CHAPTER 10
The Letter
After arriving back in California, it doesn’t take long to put Harptree behind me once again and move into California mode. The remaining weeks of my summer vacation are spent at the beach or lounging beside someone’s pool. The warm evenings involve cold beer around a campfire somewhere with a bunch of friends. I make the transition easily, never showing my true feelings. Diana is the first to write, telling me that she finally spoke to Joe about the night at the club. He explained that Sully was about to come over to the booth to say hello to everyone, but when Joe mentioned I was there visiting from California, Sully acted shocked. Joe laughed at him because he thought Sully was being funny, then he headed back toward the table, fully expecting Sully to follow. Joe hasn’t seen him since, and neither has
Terry.
It’s all quite mysterious, and I’m beginning to think I dreamed that he came back and danced with me. After all, it does sound a bit ridiculous, especially since no words were spoken between us. Perhaps I’m getting fantasy and reality mixed up. But then the birthday card and letter arrive.
This year, my birthday falls on a Wednesday. School has started back the week before, so I come home after a long day on a hot, crammed school bus, to a homemade chocolate birthday cake and an empty house to celebrate my sixteenth birthday. A stack of cards lies on the dining room table along with a couple of wrapped presents and a note from my mum on a ripped piece of notebook paper saying she is sorry, she has to work, but she’ll be home by ten. I guess I’m fending for myself again.
Giving in to defeat, I drop my backpack to the floor and sit down, staring at the table. The house is dark, the curtains drawn tight to keep out the intense September sunshine, but it smells delightful, like cake batter, sweet with hints of vanilla and cocoa, making my mouth water and my tummy rumble. I can tell my mum was in a rush wrapping the two rectangular boxes in front of me; the gift wrap is light pink with white polka dots, but the paper is cut crooked along the seams and has been hastily taped. I am surprised that I even have these gifts, because she and my stepdad, Peter, bought me a used car for my sweet sixteen, a 1980 VW Rabbit. I hope to take my driving test at the end of the month.
I light the candles and sit staring at the flames, watching the orange lights flicker and dance, the
heat from the sixteen colorful sticks warming my face as wax drips onto the frosting. Pathetically, I softly sing to myself, feeling very alone and sad. When I finish, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and blow out all the candles, making a wish. Matthew is all that passes through my mind as warm air from my lungs rushes over my pursed lips, extinguishing each of the tiny flames. I sorrowfully wish for Matthew.
I cut a piece of cake for myself, scraping off the wax that is now all over the frosting, and head to my bedroom with my cards and presents tucked under my arm. One by one I open the cards and set them on my dresser, attempting to bring some festivity to my somber mood. Inside the gift-wrapped boxes I find a new pair of Bongo jeans and a bright neon orange shirt, which I am pleased about—for once, it’s an outfit I will actually wear. My grandparents have sent me money, English pounds, of course; I will stow it away for my next trip home. I open Diana’s card next, and a photograph falls out. It is a strip of photo booth pictures that we took once when we were only ten years old. We look so young. In the four pictures we are sticking out our tongues or making silly faces, a different pose in each black and white photograph. It makes me laugh.
When I stand to pin it on my cork board, another envelope slips off the bed onto the floor. Reaching down, I pick it up. I immediately recognize Matthew’s writing, and my heart leaps. Flipping it over, I jerk my finger underneath the seal so hard the paper slices into my finger and it starts to bleed. Impatiently pulling the envelope open, I find a beautiful card with a butterfly on the front, its
wings decorated in hearts of various sizes in every color of the rainbow. The card is blank inside except for his handwritten words:
Happy birthday. Love, Matthew
. A single folded sheet of white paper is inside.
My heart is beating so fast in my chest, hammering against my ribs as I unfold the piece of paper. His handwriting fills the page. I don’t have the patience to read what it says, I’m desperate to know his thoughts, and my eyes frantically scan the page trying to absorb it instantly. My mind races. How long has this letter been here? When did he send this? Why?
I take a breath, slowing down my thoughts, and start at the beginning. Blood from my index finger leisurely seeps onto the white page from my paper cut.
August 16, 1986
Dearest Kate
,
I can’t help but think kissing you was a dream. You are definitely not my little Kate that left me two years ago, you are becoming a beautiful woman, and when I saw you I was shocked. I didn’t think I would ever see you again. Your letters were different in the beginning, you were so homesick, you missed me and spoke only about us being together again. But with each new letter I realized that you were slowly letting go, maybe even enjoying your new life. You could not grow and adjust to your new life in California if I was an anchor weighing you down to your old life here in Harptree. I could never find the right words to tell you, and then before I knew it, time passed and your letters stopped
.
The butterfly on the front of this card reminds me of you. You left England, went to California, and have transformed. You need to fly, Kate. I now see
what a great opportunity it has been for you. You have thrived there, and you will no doubt continue to thrive
.
When I touch you, it is as if no time has passed at all. My feelings are still the same, and will always remain that way. We are thousands of miles apart, worlds apart, but we will always share a very special connection. I love you, Kate, always have, always will. I can’t get the memory of you in my arms out of my head, and I would love it if you would start to write to me again. No expectations. I want you in my life in any way I can have you, even if that means as friends
.
Love, Matt
4a Hayloft Alley, Harptree, Essex CM4 6AJ
I read his words over and over. As a tear drips onto the paper, I realize I am crying, and a flood of emotions takes over as if the reservoir gates have released, and I flop down on my bed, freeing the tears that I’ve kept hidden away. I am relieved to know that I didn’t dream the night in the club; I finally have confirmation here in my hand that Matthew came back to me, although he makes no mention of his girlfriend. The fact that Matthew says he still loves me causes the butterflies inside to do somersaults, making me smile, but at the same time I have so many questions.
He wants to write, to be friends. Does he only want to be friends? He thinks California is a good place for me to be, and he doesn’t mention anything about me moving back to England in two years. I lie for a while, thinking, letting the questions and answers run through my head. I have missed Matthew. Finally, I grab a pen and notebook from my backpack and begin to write.
September 10, 1986
Hi Matthew
,
Thank you for the beautiful birthday card and the lovely letter. I am completely surprised that you have written to me. When you walked out from the club, I was so confused. I have even started to convince myself that I imagined the entire thing and maybe you were not there at all. You certainly are not the 16-year-old teenager I said goodbye to. I was dancing in the arms of a man, being kissed by a man. Everything about you is so different, yet it feels the same, if that makes any sense at all
.