The Yearbook: A Trip Down Memory Lane

From: cindylu22@gmail.com

To: Btaurus3@hotmail.com 

Mon, Mar 23 9:47 am (2 days ago)

Dear Brandon, 

It’s Cindy Lu from middle school. Remember me?

On the last day of eighth grade, you wrote your email in my yearbook using a red flair pen, our lucky color, before making me promise I wouldn’t close it until the ink had lost its sheen. We had to make sure it was 100% dried because we couldn’t risk losing contact. 

Our whole science class was outside that day, chattering about their summer plans. They were so giddy to leave that place behind, it seemed like I was the only person who wanted to stay. Even though those wooden benches burned the backs of my thighs every time I sat down, and even though we couldn’t play real four square (we had to catch the ball each pass), I was content to stay stuck in that day forever. 

When you turned around to talk to your buddies and sign their yearbooks, I wrapped my arms around my yearbook and didn’t let anybody come near me until I knew that ink was smudge-proof. 

You meant so much to me then. I can still remember that day perfectly; the clouds were mere ripples in the sky and the sunlight licked the ground. It was as if your shining blonde hair was a magnet for even the sun because I swear there was a faint halo around you. 

I didn’t want that day to end; I didn’t want you to leave. I was so certain I would email you immediately after you moved, but I just didn’t. I sometimes think about what would have happened if I did. 

I was cleaning through the attic and found the yearbook and your email, the red pen resilient as ever. 

It’s a long shot and you may not even have this email anymore, but I feel like I owe it to our thirteen-year-old selves. How are you doing? How have you been?

Yours truly, 

Cindy Lu

To: Btaurus3@hotmail.com 

From: cindylu22@gmail.com

Mon, Mar 23 6:23 pm (2 days ago)

Hey Cindy,

Wow. I really was not expecting this.

When your name popped up on my computer I thought I had misread it. Maybe it was a Candy Li who was emailing me or a Caren Liu. 

To answer your question: I’m doing alright--I’m engaged for one thing. 

To be honest, I never expected to hear from you again. I was heart-broken at the time, as heart-broken as a thirteen-year-old boy can be. I constantly refreshed my inbox, waiting for your email to grace my screen. I ransacked my spam folder, looking for something even remotely like your name, but I never found it. And to think it was just cindylu22@gmail.com this whole time.

After we moved, my parents tried to confiscate my laptop; they said I was too caught up in the happenings of Louisville. You have such a good opportunity to make friends for high school, why live in the past? Go meet the neighbors. Play some basketball with them. Make some friends. I grudgingly let my parents push me out the front door and onto the cracked sidewalk. They locked me out of the house until dinner time, telling me I’d have to make do with my situation. At first, I refused to move. I counted the number of cracks running through the sidewalk and the number of branches on our big oak tree. Of course, eventually, my stubbornness wore thin and my boredom ballooned, its distended stomach demanding satiation, so I gave up and went to introduce myself to the neighbors. They were great kids and so welcoming, even though I was absolutely miserable to be around. I hate to sound dramatic, but through every shot I took and every play we recreated, I still had a tiny piece of my mind attached to that stupid laptop. 

For quite a while, I wanted to kick myself in the head for being so stupid and never getting your email. I mulled over what I did wrong, what I could’ve done better, and if I was just naive. 

At the start of freshmen year, I finally accepted that you were just a shell of my past, and I stashed my yearbook under my bed for good. I let it grow a coat of dust. No more flipping to your 3x5 picture and tracing the loops of your scarlet signature. No more re-reading the paragraph you wrote to me, even though by the end of the first week I had already memorized the whole thing.

My memory of you and the yearbook itself began to wither with time, the edges of the memory shriveling up and curling into itself. On the outside, it was a misshapen blob that resided quietly in the nooks of my memory, shielded. But on the inside, it was still as vibrant as ever.  

Today, I took my yearbook out of its eight-year hibernation and wiped it down so the metallic letters shone once more. As I opened it, it automatically settled on page 13 and your face beamed up at me. I guess the pages were too familiar with being creased there. Maybe I shouldn’t have touched my yearbook because somehow, I was 13 again. 

With all that said, I have one question that’s been irking me. You clearly felt the same way as I did, so why didn’t you email me? 

All the best,

Brandon Taurus 

From: cindylu22@gmail.com

To: Btaurus3@hotmail.com 

Tue, Mar 24 8:34 pm (1 day ago)

Brandon:

First of all, I’m glad to hear from you and I’m happy for you and your fiance, truly. You deserve the best. 

I apologize for the delayed response, but to be honest, I needed time to think about how I would answer your question.

At that time, I was just beginning to sift through and detach my discordant emotions from my rationality. You were moving away and as much as I wanted to clutch you so tightly that my hands and arms lost feeling just to keep you right by my side, I let you trickle through my fingers and melt away into a murky puddle of my past.

The chances of us working out were so slim. As much as it hurt me to do so, I cut off contact for both of us so we could move on with our separate lives. For god’s sake, we were only in eighth grade! We had all of high school ahead of us. 

I stumbled forward into the ninth grade, my rationale’s hot breath chilling the back of my neck, growling at me to keep moving. I admit, periodically, I stole glances back at what could have been. I wrote your last name with my first, Cindy Taurus, Cindy Taurus, over and over again with the brightest, boldest red pen I could find. I marveled at the way the yearbook photographer captured a sparkle of playfulness in your dewy eyes, but I never stopped walking forward, and I don’t regret it. 

It wasn’t fair for you to be stuck 2,330 miles away from where you were living. I thought we would both be happier in the long run if we could move on and start anew, but I still cared deeply for you. 

And was I wrong? Look at you now. You’re going to be a married man soon.

Take care,

Cindy Lu 

From: Btaurus3@hotmail.com 

To: cindylu22@gmail.com

Wed, Mar 25 10:09 am (2 hours ago)

Dear Cindy, 

I get it. I just wish you emailed to tell me sooner. You thought stopping contact cold turkey was the best idea? If anything, that made it worse. I grasped onto the tiny, dangling thread of hope that wiggled above my nose, teasing me. I kept thinking you were going to email and that it was a matter of when and not if. 

But anyway, I guess you were right, our lives really have diverged. Who knows what our future would have looked like had you emailed me that summer. 

Listen, Cindy, as much as I enjoyed catching up with you and settling the past, it’s not a place I can afford to be stuck in again. It was nice talking to you and I wish you all the success in the world moving forward, but maybe its time we close our yearbooks and stash them away for good. Take care. 

Sincerely,

Brandon Taurus

From: cindylu22@gmail.com

To: Btaurus3@hotmail.com 

Wed, Mar 25 2:21 pm (1 min ago)

Dear Brandon,

 I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you or bring back the past. I completely respect your decision. Just know this will be the last email you receive from me. Thank you for all the middle school memories and the best of luck for you, as well, moving forward. 

Sincerely,

Cindy Lu

From: mailer-daemon@googlemail.com

To: cindylu22@gmail.com 

Wed, Mar 25 2:22 pm (Just now)

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