Return to Sender

Chapter 1 Drew, Present Day The alley still looks the same, even after thirty years. The green rusted dumpster had been replaced with a larger, red model, the blacktop now gray cracked cement, but it still feels the same. Deep shadows from the tall buildings cut the alley off from the rest of the world. It is a keeper of all the secrets I hold dear to me. Thirty years ago, Wes and I were chasing each other down this alley, our laughter echoing off the buildings. At fifteen, we were carefree. I vividly recall our first kiss. We were breathing hard from full-speed running, our lips connected as we struggled for air. There were other stolen kisses, as many as we could get. Pretty soon, kisses evolved into caresses and clumsy gropes in the shadows. But we were always on alert, listening for anyone who might stumble upon us. In the dim light, I finally find the faded letters written in green Magic Marker on a brick, hidden behind the gutter: Drew + Wes 4-ever I trace the letters with my index finger. The day Wes wrote those words would be the first day of the rest of our lives. We made plans for the future: college, jobs, a house with a yard for a dog or two. We were kids with big dreams, kids whose biggest challenge was to find clean socks to wear each morning. Funny how reality can change one’s dreams in the blink of an eye. I turn to the sound of footsteps. “Wes.” “Drew,” comes the reply. I recognize the dimples in his cheeks from yards away, one of Wes’ many features burned into my memory. His once blonde hair is more silver, but still full and thick and wavy, just like I remember. My fingers flex with the muscle memory of combing through his mane when we cuddled in either of our bedrooms during the rare moments we found ourselves alone at home. There is no awkward fumbling now. No should we hug? Shake hands? Nod at each other? Simultaneously, we reach out and embrace in the tightest hug. We are both thicker around the middle, the inevitable middle-aged spread. I press my face against his shoulder—Wes has at least four inches on me—and fight back tears. I am coming home in more ways than one. I am not only returning to my childhood neighborhood, I am returning to my first and only true love. “God, it is so good to see you.” The rumble of Wes’ words vibrates through me. I squeeze him tightly before loosening my grip and leaning back to get a good look at his face. His stubble matches the silver in his hair. He now has deep laughter lines around his eyes, but they are still as stormy blue as ever. His lips spread in a smile and I fight the urge to ravish him right there on the dirty concrete. I can almost hear our cries of pleasure echo off the buildings. Time has only made him more desirable. Returning his smile, I agree, “It’s wonderful to see you, too.” I had knots in my stomach since the day we agreed to meet, two months ago. Those knots became tighter, until I thought I was having some sort of medical emergency on the plane. Now that Wes is here, in my arms, the tension melts away. We remain in that comforting embrace for several moments. Do I have to let him go? It is irrational to think he’d disappear for decades again if I release him. “If we stay out here much longer, the mosquitoes will eat us up.” “Let them carry us away. I don’t want to let you go just yet.” I rub my face into his shirt, inhaling the scent of fabric softener and sweat. His chuckle is soft and soothing. “Let’s get some dinner and then we can discuss the pros and cons of mosquito abduction.” * * * * Wes, Present Day The local diner I worked at briefly in high school is now a dollar store. A shopping mall with a convenience store, a payday loan place, cell phone repair shop, and tax preparation office fill the empty field we used to play in as kids. The apartment building Drew and I grew up in is still standing, the exterior largely unchanged. Drew and I were both raised by single mothers in low income housing. Relying on welfare, food pantries, hand-me-downs, and the generosity of teachers was the way of life growing up, and it’s what bonded us. In the eighties, the town instituted a lottery system whereby children of poorer families were chosen to be bussed across town to the upper-middle class schools. Lucky for me, when I moved to town in eighth grade and was chosen for the program, Drew was a veteran. The bus ride to and from school took anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour, it gave us plenty of time to get to know each other and become best friends. The rich kids at our school snubbed us and made fun of our worn, off-brand clothing, but we had each other. Aside from a brief misunderstanding, we were inseparable until circumstances tore us apart.