A Simple Reminder

To you, of whom I still hold dear,

            Good morning, afternoon, night, or whatever time in between you decide to sit down and read this letter; I don’t blame you if it’s a far-off time from now. 

            I hope you’re doing well. Some time has passed since we’d last seen each other, and I thought it was a fine time to reconnect with you and see where your endeavors have left you after all this time. I’ve spent my time well since we’ve departed, and as you always said with your charismatic originality, “ladies first”. So, I will humor your persistent query, even if we are miles apart. 

            I’ve done well for myself, and you’ll be glad to hear that I’ve been accepted into the law firm of my dreams, but I won’t tell you the name because I’m sure you remember. It was the one you always paraded around me for, the one that you said was…what were the words you always used? “So unique and forgotten that most people never batted an eye, and if someone needed to do it, you were the one to do it.” Was that it? I’m sure you remember saying it, you told so many people that same line when they asked what the hell I meant by environmental law. They’d say, “what is that?” or something of that level, and you’d say the aforementioned, and that “I would speak for the trees!” You had me as “The Lorax” in your phone for a time, did you not? I always hated it, but now my colleagues call me the same and now, I find a sort of levity when called that name. It brings me a peace, and for the longest time I couldn’t figure why, but now it’s clear to me.

            But I digress. All that said, I have attained my dream job in the simplest terms I can muster. It brings me more joy that I can express with a simple pen. My husband tells me it’s a big step in the right direction and maybe one day, I can be a “real lawyer”.

            He’s quite the jokester, John. Do you remember him? He played basketball back in our high school, just like you, but you likely never saw him. While you were the prize of the school, team captain of the varsity team, he was in some position on the “C-team”. He’s quite good, maybe as good as you, and I think it was a humble move for him to stay behind and help out the struggling players on that lower team. You know, he still plays “pick-up” on occasion, which I assume is some slang term for basketball. He plays mainly when I’m working so I’ve yet to see any of his games even though he’s been playing much more than he was a few months ago. Do you play “pick-up”? I’d like to see if it’s any different than our time in high school. You’re probably very good at it, I hear you’re an NBA player nowadays. I don’t watch sports very often, but I saw an article about an injury or something you had, and the pieces came together. Are you on LeBron’s team?

            John treats me well, so I hope that brings you some solace. I won’t go into too much detail on him just in case, but just know that I feel on top of the world with him.

            Do you remember our high school years? It was us the whole time, you know. Four years, three prom king and queen delegations, two pregnancy scares, and only one fight between us. I look back at our yearbooks on occasion, it feels so recent, doesn’t it? 

            Do you remember the night you reenacted how you’d propose to me once we were out of high school? It was in our junior year after a long night of dancing and love after our homecoming. Do you remember the way the moonlight shined on us after you brought me to a clearing of your own creation in your father’s cornfield? You had a quaint stereo set up on a folding chair, and it was surrounded by hand-picked flowers from your mothers garden that, while most were wilted by the time we arrived, was still a cute gesture. 

            Do you remember the way you looked at me in my dress? The purple, glossy one with the pockets on the side that I made a huge deal of? Women have always had a hard time with pockets, hence the purses and bags, so it was a huge deal to me. The bottom of the dress was light and elegantly shaped so that all eyes would be on me as I twirled on the dance floor, the dress like a cyclone around me. You said you loved it. You looked at me speechless, with eyes refusing to shift away from my body. You said I was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Is that still true?

            I remember that night. The moonlight and the sounds of the crickets felt so crisp and fresh that night. It was as though I was experiencing life for the first time. It was so surreal standing there among the corn with me standing in my fine dress, while you knelt on one knee in front of me, hesitating to show your gesture of romance. After some time, you brandished your little ring made of paper and held it in the palm of your hand as you spoke these very words to me. 

            “Elizabeth Moore, will you promise to marry me years from now when our bodies and minds mature as our love abounds all the while?”

            Without hesitation, I said yes and you slid the ring onto my finger, and both of us cried for our own reasons as we held each other and kissed long into the night as that 80’s song clicked on as if on cue. “Space Age Love Song” by A Flock of Seagulls, remember? I can’t listen to it without thinking of you, but I still keep it in my rotation on those nights I find myself alone. 

            You swung me across the grass with your hands tender around my waist as I held onto what I thought was my forever. The moonlight danced across our faces, highlighting our love as the fireflies flew at our feet, guiding our every step as we slid atop the grass with our song and love extending across the field. You had rehearsed your little dance so well, I wondered if you’d told the little lightning bugs to be there for us too! They danced with us as we moved across our dance floor, the slightest bit of buzzing droning under the beats of the ballad you chose for us. How could I forget such a night?

            Do you remember it?

            It was such an amazing night, there are days where I can’t stop thinking about it. I wonder if you’ve done anything since then that even matches that sort of romance. I’m sure whatever woman you’re with now is deserving of such a gesture, but I doubt you’d ever be able to concoct something so perfect again. 

            This must seem so ironic given how it all ended. Is your jaw on the floor? Are your lips pursed as your eyebrows are raised in shock and confusion? Or are you reading this letter somewhere your lover can’t see it, silently smiling to yourself? I hope it’s a mix of both. 

            I know what I said back then, but I also know what I’ve said in this letter…moreso an essay at this point. I want you to take the memories I’m imprinting into your brain as a sort of apology for what I said when we parted ways at my word. I really thought the decision I was making was for the betterment of us both. And while my life now is everything I could ever ask for, I can’t help but feel like the most important part of it all is missing. 

            I sincerely hope you find it in you to write back, but of course I don’t blame you if you decide you don’t want to, or you can’t. 

            I still hold love for you, and I’m trying to determine which sort of love it is.

            Your friend,

            Elizabeth Moore

            The woman places the letter down on the table and sits down across from the man who’s slowly making his way through his lunch. The crumbs of his sandwich are making a home in his beard, but he doesn’t make any moves to clean them out. 

            “This was dropped off for you, David.”

            “Just put on my nightstand Ms. Collette.”

            “You sure? It seems like it’s important.”

            “Who’s it from?”

            “An Elizabeth Moore. Do you know her?”

            He pauses for a moment, finally looking up at the woman and making eye contact with her. “I don’t want it.”

            “Hm?” She looks at him curiously as he stands up and grabs the remnants of his lunch before walking over to a trashcan and throwing it all away. “Do you know this woman?”

            “Yes.” He begins to walk away, and she follows him. She trails behind him for a minute until they make their way to his room on the far side of the house, passing by a slew of closed doors until they reach the one that remains open. He stops at the doorway, and motions for her to enter. “Ladies first.”

Inside the room is simple, a bed and a nightstand stationed in the corner of the room with an ornate dresser close by. On the other end of the room is a desk with a laptop on top, of which he makes his way towards and sits down in an expensive chair that barely shifts under his thin frame. “I have to get back to my studies.”

            “Of course. I hope you’re moving along well Mr. Jordan.” He turns on his laptop with the press of a large power button wedged in the top corner of the strange keyboard. Most of the keys are missing besides every letter, number, and enter key. The screen boots up, and a flash of the company who made the laptop flashes on, followed by a lockscreen that reads “Rockwell Institute.”

            He stares at the screen for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he examines it like a test question. “Now how do I login to this?”

            “All you have to do is hit enter—”

            “Jesus! You scared the hell out of me. How long have you been standing there?” He fumbles around in his chair for a moment, his eyes wide open.

            The woman smiles at the man and puts a soft hand on his shoulder. “Just for a moment.” She flashes the letter in front of him so he can see it. “This was dropped off for you, David.”

            “Who’s it from?”

            “An Elizabeth Moore. Do you know her?”

            “I don’t want it.”

            “Why’s that? Do you know her?”

            “Yes. I broke up with years ago. Just an old girlfriend.”

            “Ah, I see. I’ll just leave it on your nightstand then.” She pats him on the shoulder and turns towards his bed where a nightstand with a handful of orange bottles and unopened letters waits for her. “I hope your studies go well, Mr. Jordan.”

            “Is that what I was doing?”

            “Yes.” She places down the letter and walks back over to him, hitting the enter key on the keyboard for him. The screen turns black for a moment, before the home screen comes to life with a single icon placed in the middle labelled “pictures of my family.”

            “I click this right?”

            “Yes! Good job Mr. Jordan.” The file opens and a collection of pictures flash on the screen. “A simple reminder; if you need help identifying any of them, just hit the button labelled “call” right there alright?” She points to a big red button right next to his laptop. 

            “Okay Ms. Collette.” 

            “Okay, I’m going to lock the door now. Have a good time studying.”

            “Is that what I was doing?”

            “Yes sir.” She smiles at him, then moves to exit the room, closing the door behind her. She then takes off her nametag and slides it down the card reader attached to the door handle, waiting for the red light to flash before walking back to the lunchroom.