I cared a lot for you. So much it almost hurt.
This should get the answer that he needed.
And then he scribbled some more. Because he suddenly felt too exposed. And because he needed her to negate his fears.
But I guess it wasn’t meant to be. Now all we can be is good friends. Write back with some answers for me, please.
Love, Tim
Four days later he had his answer.
/> He skimmed over the daily school crap and got right to the important stuff.
The extent of my feelings for you? That’s a tough question to answer, Tim. It’s also unfair. However, I’ll do the best I can. Yes, I really did care, and I still do. You’re a super person. There’ve been a lot of times that I really wanted your arms around me, bad! I don’t know why it didn’t work, but I’ve always cared. I told you when I was home why I never said I love you, and I have still never said it—but that doesn’t meant that I don’t feel it. I guess I wrote it because I didn’t feel threatened. I just wanted you to know that you’re loved, and I’m here if you need me—for whatever reason.
One week and four days till I’m home. I have to go to Wright State the week I’m home. Maybe we can meet for lunch. I promise not to eat you.
Love you, Tara.
He’d asked, and now he had his answer. She didn’t say she was in love with him. He’d put it right out there and she’d talked in circles about caring and loving, but nothing intimate. She just wanted to be friends. Good friends, maybe.
At least now he knew for sure.
He wrote her back, telling her he’d meet her for lunch.
What could it hurt?
I was up before my alarm went off the morning I was due to meet Tim at Wright State. I showered. Did my hair. Put on eye makeup. I’d packed my blue sweater—the one he’d liked best—and my nicest pair of jeans, and when I put them on, when the fabric slid across my skin, I shivered. If things went as I hoped, Tim would be sliding his hands in place of that fabric before I was back in my bedroom.
I went to school early. Registered for the summer classes I needed to take to graduate from Armstrong the next spring. With the credits I’d taken during high school, I just needed a physical education requirement. I chose racquetball. Hard to believe I was already in my junior year.
And then I went to the student union to wait for Tim. Just like old times. Wright State wasn’t on spring break yet, so the place was swarming. The feeling of homecoming was so sweet I thought about transferring back to finish my last year where I’d begun my college education.
Finding a seat closest to the fire, I read every word on my registration receipts. And then turned to the course catalog the guidance counselor had given me while, surreptitiously, I watched for Tim. I wanted to see him before he saw me. I wanted to be in his arms before he knew what hit him.
I’d hoped he cut class. Or leave early. He didn’t.
His class ended at 11:00 AM. My nerves were at the screaming point by 11:05 AM.
At 11:15 AM I stood, started walking around the union, looking for him. He was probably sitting somewhere, waiting for me. But how could I have missed him? I’d had every entrance in sight.
I walked around until 11:30 AM. And then I sat again. I waited.
For my Tim.
At noon, I went outside, got in my car, and drove home.
I drove slowly. I had to face my mom. Tell her that Tim had stood me up. She’d pity me. And if I started to cry the tears weren’t ever going to stop.
She was in the kitchen when I walked in the house.
“There’s a message from Tim on the answering machine,” she said before I got a word out.
My heart leapt. I knew it! Something had happened. His car broke down. He . . .
“He said that he was sorry but he wasn’t going to make it.”
“Did he say why?”