Short Story: If Only ...

If Only …

I didn’t know it yet, but today was the day that everything would change. My day started off the same way as always. I woke up at around 9:00 A.M. Ever since my wife died and I’ve been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, I don’t really have the desire to wake up very early and spring right into action. If I don’t have to leave the house, I’ll just stay in my bathrobe all day and read my favorite books. Since I’ll be dying soon, why should I waste my time testing out new books that may suck if I can just stick with what I know I like. If I do have to leave the house, I try to leave as soon as I wake up, before it gets busy and I risk seeing people I know. I find it so annoying when I meet past acquaintances and they ask me the same dreadful question: “How are you?” It’s not their fault; I don’t tell anyone about my condition, but still, I hate it! 

Today announced itself as a calm day. I did all my groceries yesterday, so today I continue my favorite book: “And Then There Were None”. Even though I know the story by heart, it’s still thrilling when I reach the end and Judge Wargrave confesses to the murders. I don’t know why. Maybe I wish that I did more with my life, and well, Wargrave did do more with his life than me; in a very negative way, I’ll grant that, but still; it’s something. I spent all my life with my books and abstract chemical concepts. Well, I also spent it teaching chemistry to a bunch of dumb university students. None of them were ever curious; they just saw my class as something they had to do; a necessary evil. However miserable that may sound, and it was miserable, while I had my dear wife by my side, it all was tolerable. But then she got diagnosed with dementia, and died shortly afterwards. That’s when everything changed. I went from tolerating my students to detesting them; from loving chemistry to resenting it. Then, the last straw was when I received my cancer diagnosis. That’s when I quit my job and entered my isolation. 

As I was reading the last pages of my book, someone rang at my doorbell. Who could it be? The last time somebody ever came to visit me was, well, never. Even when I was a young boy, nobody ever went to talk to me. I was always alone doing what I usually did: work on a math or chemistry problem, away from everybody else, even if I was always surrounded by people. When I became older, I would get a lot of emails, mostly from desperate students trying to convince me to help them. It used to amuse me—leading them to think I’d help, only to let them down. The shock on their faces? Delicious. Even so, nobody would actually come over, a situation I was quite pleased with!

“Fuck off! No visitors!”

“Sir, I have a letter for you.”

A letter? Nobody sends letters anymore these days. And who could it be from? I don’t have any friends. Well, my only friend was my wife. Nobody understood me. Nobody does; no one can! Only she did. Well everyone kept leaving me one after the other, she stayed with me. While for some, my flaws were reasons for them to leave; for her, they were what made me interesting. A challenge for her to surmount; to make me a better person. And she did.

I was curious, so I got up and opened the door.

“Who’s the letter from?” I asked

“No idea! Look for it yourself, asshole!”

And on that note, the delivery man left. With the letter at hand, I returned inside. I quickly glanced at the envelope. Impossible! It couldn’t be right? Must be a cruel prank! But then, it’s been since forever that I told anyone about this. Well, it’s been a very long time since I thought of her. A letter from the girl I first ever fell in love with. It was back in high school. We were friends for two years, but eventually, I started developing romantic feelings for her. I knew she didn’t feel the same way about me, which made me more confrontational and snappy with her. Eventually, she left me, quite understandably. She never fully understood why I was the way I was. For a while, I was still hung up on her, but when I met my wife, I stopped thinking of her. And now, I have a letter from her. Intriguing! But do I really want to read it? What if she rejects me in this letter? Why would she? It’s been 60 years since all of this happened. She did send me this letter though. Why? She dumped me. Maybe she regretted it? It can’t hurt to read it. It’s not like it’ll change anything anyway. I eagerly grab a letter opener and open the envelope. Immediately, I am even more intrigued. Shocked even! The date on the letter. August 5th, 2030! 

My hands are trembling. My heart is beating like crazy! The last time it was this fast was when I proposed to my wife; I was so afraid she’d say no. Thankfully, she didn’t, but was it only out of pity? I’ll never truly know now. 

It’s been 54 years since this letter has been sent out! That means she was 21 when she wrote this! I don’t get it though. How is it possible that it took the post office 54 years to send me her letter? What came afterwards shocked me even more.

Dear Norman,

I don’t know if this letter will ever reach you. I don’t know if you’ll even care to read it. But I have to write it, regardless of where it ends up.

I used to think I understood you—or at least, tried to. You were always distant, always impossible to read, but I convinced myself I could reach you. And when I left, I told myself I had no choice. That you’d never let me in. That I was wasting my time.

But I was wrong.

For years, I thought about writing to you, about saying the words I never had the courage to say. I spent so much time convincing myself that leaving you was the right decision, that I never questioned if it was the decision. I told myself you were cold, unreachable, incapable of love. But even now, I remember the moments that prove otherwise.

The way you listened when I rambled about ridiculous theories. The way you challenged me when I gave up too easily. The way, despite everything, you cared—just in a way I wasn’t patient enough to understand.

I loved you, and I think—no, I know—that a part of me always will.

If I had just been a little wiser, a little braver, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here, writing to a man who will likely never reply.

And yet, I write. Because if nothing else, I want you to know this: You were loved. And whether that means anything to you now, I can only hope.

Yours, Lenore.

I couldn’t believe it! After all those years, she felt the same way about me! In a very weird sense, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and yet an even bigger one has been placed on them. All those feelings I had for her all those years ago suddenly came rushing back to me. I guess I never really got over her. How life can play tricks on us? Is she even still alive, after all this time? I must find her! But do I even have the time? With my cancer that’s spreading quickly, it’s not a question of years, it’s a question of months, maybe even weeks. I must act quickly. No. I must act now! 

I pull out my laptop. It’s all dusty and old. I remember all those years, when I was a professor, I’d always use it for work, but ever since my retirement, I never use it. It feels so foreign to me now. It took me three tries to get the right password in. All the memories that came rushing back; all those files I used in class. Maybe I was too harsh on my students? I should have been nicer to them. Well, it doesn’t matter now. None of that matters. What matters is finding Lenore. I quickly found some good news, and some very bad news. The good news is that she is still alive, and I found her address. The bad news is that she lives in Los Angeles, which is a 13-hour plane ride from where I live. Will I still be alive by the time I arrive? Well, there is only one way to find out. I’m going to Los Angeles. 

A few hours later, after packing one suitcase and arriving at the airport, I’m finally on the airplane. The plane has just taken off. Since I’m unable to sleep right after the plane takes off, I decide to put on my earbuds and listen to some music. The first song that plays is 1973 by James Blunt. I used to listen to that song all the time back in high school, back when I was head over heels for Lenore. Everytime I would listen to it, I would imagine us together, not as friends, but as something more. I’d imagine the scene when we’d find out that we’d be having our first child. I’d imagine the moment we find out that we’d won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry and we’d celebrate together. All those happy thoughts, all associated with that song, but now they are all impossible. A dream that is lost. But hopefully a bit of it can be regained.

Many hours later, I finally arrived in Los Angeles. God, I am feeling so tired. My chest hurts so much. I’m sure that my unwanted companion doesn’t help. The first thing I do when I get off the plane is to go to a hotel and book a room. There, I try to sleep a bit, since I couldn’t sleep on the plane. How am I supposed to sleep? I don’t have the time to sleep. I must find her quickly, before it’s too late. However, I also need to be fully concentrated to fulfill my quest. After a few minutes of lying on my bed, I pull out my phone to listen to music. I used to listen to a lot of music with my wife, but ever since she died, it’s been too painful to listen to our songs; to the playlists we made together. God, my wife! I wonder what she thinks of me going all around the globe just to find a former-friend I was in love with. She’d probably be happy that I’m actually doing something outside my comfort zone. She’d always tell me to get out of the house and get a life. I said that she was my life and since she was at home, I felt fulfilled. Well, soon, we’ll be together again. After a few minutes, I finally fell asleep.

When I wake up, it’s 8:45 A.M. in Los Angeles. I guess some things never change. However, instead of staying at home all day, I’ll be running all over town to find a former-friend. Well, at this stage, I can’t really run. I’ll walk slowly around town, I guess. After changing into clean clothes, I call for a taxi. After waiting 30 minutes, the taxi arrives.

“Good morning Sir! Where would you like me to bring you to?”

“1452 Westwood Blvd, Los Angeles”

The car ride starts off well. The taxi driver tries to start a conversation with me, but some things just never change. Why should I talk with him? I’ll need to pay him at the end of our drive. And his rate is such a scam! I won’t play nice with him! I’m sure my wife is looking down on me from Heaven, laughing at my attitude. It’s probably quite ridiculous. Maybe I am overreacting. 

Suddenly, I feel a very sharp pain in my chest. It’s so painful! I can’t help myself from crying out in pain. 

“Sir, are you okay?”

“What do you think, you fucking genius?! Of course I am not okay! Bring me to the closest hospital, now!”

Twenty minutes later, we finally arrived at the hospital. I’m quickly brought to an emergency room. Even though all the nurses and doctors are telling me that everything will be okay, I know that they are not speaking the truth. The hour of death has arrived. As I layed on my bed, I couldn’t help think about all the people that played a role in my life. All those students I insulted and manipulated. All those people who tried to befriend me, only for me to push them away. What a miserable person I was? The only thing that got me excited after so many years was a letter sent by a former friend more than five decades ago. What does that say about me? If only I could go back and start it all over again. If only I didn’t push Lenore away all those years ago. If only, if only.

When the nurses entered, they found my body still and cold, a faint shadow of sorrow frozen on my face. If only they knew what the journey had meant — or what I had lost so long ago.