D****e

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I would sincerely like to apologize for throwing you out of your car that sunny afternoon in North Miami Beach Florida. I would also like to apologize for running off the way I did with my mother screaming after me as I told P to “Gun it! Gun it!”

No way to treat a woman, or anyone.

Not in control of my feelings. That was pure teenage adrenaline, fueled by the very same gas that puts hair on your balls and chest. Of which I had barely any.

I wonder what you’re up to, and if you remember that? We exchanged oh, so many notes, when I probably should have been paying attention in class. I thought we were simpatico. I thought we were both like “fuck school” live in the now! I would slavishly devote myself to writing note after note, delving into the very depths of my fourteen year old soul — while you got straight A’s.

Did they make you laugh? Did they make you think well of me? Did you think I was creative? Did you like me more?

That was my goal through school. Maybe I didn’t get enough love at home. Not enough love from the parents. Not enough connection with dad. Not enough attention. I couldn’t express myself then like I can now. I should have told my mother to spend more time with me, and less time allowing me to sit in front of the TV.

I should have joined my stepfather and mother as they went out to dinner. God knows she invited me a million times, but I preferred to stay home and sneak cigarettes and chat with you, or people like you on the phone. I was addicted to the phone like my son is addicted to his hand held devices.

How good would it have been for me to speak to more grown ups? See what life was really about? What were grown up issues? I never got a taste of what regular adults considered important in a socially pleasant way. The only way I heard what was important was when they would fight in front of me. Too much fighting. My brother, my father, my mother, stepfather, school… how else could i express these deep feelings I had for you.

Oh, D. I don’t know why I thought of you after all these years. I know you have a kid. A little girl. I have a boy now. He’s better than I was. At everything. I’d like you to meet him.

Oh! Remember when we had to pick a poem to memorize completely and perform in front of everyone during speech class? We both picked The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe. I never told you this, but I thought your take on it was better.

Hm. Maybe that’s why I threw you out of your car.

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