I require supervision.

I require supervision.

If you’ve been with me here for some time, you might remember Ray.

A few months ago, I tried to contact several people whom I haven’t seen or heard from in years – old friends from my east coast elementary school, and penpals from my teenage years, mostly. I was just hoping to hear how they were doing, to catch up on where life has taken them, and at the very least, to just let them know that they held a special place in my thoughts after so many years. Who wouldn’t like to find out that they are a piece of someone’s fond memories, especially after such a long time? I’d love to get a letter like that.

Naturally, when I was compiling this list of people, Ray’s name popped up as someone I’ve always wondered about – if he ever married, had kids, quit landscaping, and so forth. I wasn’t sure how appropriate contacting him would be, not knowing if there existed a jealous woman, and also aware that my husband likely wouldn’t understand (and that’s probably an understatement); so, I didn’t pursue it, initially.

I didn’t have too much luck locating the old penpals, though, unfortunately; and my school friends proved just as elusive, although I was at least able to find two addresses and send off a quick note to them. One of the girls, through Classmates.com, had sort of contacted my twin by requesting a picture – but, if you’re familiar with that site at all, you’ll know that you can’t reach anyone through them without paying for a membership. So, I was aware she was kicking around somewhere, but I didn’t know where and I couldn’t find out without attempting to write to her. I was pretty disappointed that I didn’t hear back – although I’m not sure if she ever did receive my letter. I sent it care of her parents’ old address, which appears to remain current. Still, no word.

I was a tad put out that my efforts met with such lame results. I didn’t actually ‘find’ anyone I had been trying to contact. My thoughts returned to Ray. I had an old address and phone number, but after ten years I hardly expected them to be valid anymore. I looked at his name and particulars for probably another week before I convinced myself that it wouldn’t hurt to have another look on the internet, to see what I could see.

What did I see? Only that he (still) didn’t appear to exist anywhere on the net. He never struck me as particularly tech-savvy, even back then, so no surprise there. It didn’t take too much longer to convince myself that a quick 411 call might supply me with a phone number. I never intended to call him, but I thought that with a number I might possibly be able to find an address. At this point I still hadn’t made up my mind as to whether or not I was actually going to write to him; I just knew that finding his phone number and address would be comforting, at least. It was that whole confirming-he-exists thing that I was really looking for, so I thought that would be enough.

To my surprise, he was still living in the same small town – or at least, someone with his name was living there. The operator supplied the number to me, and after hanging up, I set it aside and was content for a few days before my curiosity got the better of me. Into the reverse lookup went his number, and out came his name and a new address.

Even then, I sat on the address for a while. I wanted to drop him a line, but I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, or think I was stalking him, or whatever. I just wanted to say hi, and to thank him for the wonderful memories, and if I was lucky and/or deserving, I hoped he would let me know how he was doing. I certainly would never expect to keep in touch with him once that was out of the way, and it wasn’t what I was looking to do in the first place. I just wanted to put to rest that wee unfinished chapter in my life, and hearing from him would do it for me. I just wasn’t sure whether or not he would welcome such contact, never mind even remember who the hell I was, and I certainly didn’t want to upset him or cause any trouble. So, I did nothing and sat on the address some more.

I probably would not have written at all if I hadn’t been so dissatisfied that day with my own marriage. Not to say that I was writing with ulterior motives in mind, or that I was hoping he would be single and would sweep me off my feet, or anything of that nature – but I admit that a lack of attention from my own husband was sort of steering me to seek some validation elsewhere. Anywhere. Some kind words from an old boyfriend, one who I couldn’t otherwise associate with in any fashion, would do just fine. Plenty safer than inviting my friend Matt over for coffee, say.

Ever the procrastinator, I wrote a letter, explaining who I was, where we’d met, why I was writing, and about my good life, my lovely husband (who he might remember me telling him about before), and beautiful kids; and then I sat on that for another week or so. By the time I reread it, I wasn’t as upset with John anymore, and the fact that I wrote the letter when I had been was glaringly obvious, so I scrapped the first draft and wrote another, less flowery one. And I still didn’t send it.

Two more drafts and several days later, I was satisfied that my letter was appropriately concise and benign, so I sealed it in an envelope and put it aside, still not decided on whether or not to send it or throw it out – until the day I said ‘fuck it’ and dropped it in the mailbox. The only thing I had considered adding to the letter, and hadn’t, was a short disclaimer to any lady he was potentially with, reassuring whoever else that might read it that my intentions were honourable, in case the manner I’d wrote the letter in wasn’t 100% clear.

Of course, I assumed my approach was obvious enough, and that the average woman would be satisfied by that - and like me, not threatened by such a letter. If John heard from the girl that broke his heart so many years ago, I would be fine with it – actually, I would be happy for him, because I know what it would mean to him. How silly of me to make such an assumption!

I was online about a week later, doing my thing, when at about 11pm, my call director popped a window up displaying his name and phone number. I never expected him to phone me; to be honest, I didn’t expect to hear from him at all, most especially not so promptly and at such a late hour. I almost didn’t answer it, but how could I not? My heart was pounding as I picked it up.

I’m not sure how else to describe the ensuing conversation, but ‘awkward’ would fit. Right off the bat, two things were apparent – he didn’t remember me, and he had a jealous fiancée in the room with him. She’d found the letter in the mail, and accused Ray of meeting someone on a trip he’d taken the year before in my home province. I gathered that she hadn’t opened it, instead waiting for him to return home before presenting him with it and demanding an explanation. He’d given it a quick read-through and phoned me afterwards to try to determine who the hell I was.

If he’d had more time to digest the letter, he’d have remembered me. I explained again who I was, how we’d met, and so on, everything that I had written in the letter. He was asking me in front of her why I had written, and I assured him again that I had no designs on him, and that I merely wanted to catch up and say thanks for the memories. I heard him say, “Are you hearing this?” to her, and repeating what I was saying.

Well, this is uncomfortable.

When he did finally recall who I was, his tone grew less bewildered and upset; he was hardly warm and friendly with me, but I could tell that he held no hard feelings and was trying not to hurt mine, or something. He said he was still alive and doing well. I told him that was good to know, apologized profusely, and assured him that he’d never hear from me again.

That was the way things had to be, said he. Absolutely, I agreed. We exchanged goodbyes and that was that. That wasn’t quite the way I would have scripted it, had I the opportunity.

For a couple of days I felt a little sick about causing such a fuss, for having done such a foolish thing by writing the letter in the first place. Even though all I wanted to do was say hello and look forward to the same, I did it for selfish reasons and I should have left well enough alone. That’ll teach me to seek even the smallest of attentions from any man other than my husband! I shouldn’t even attempt platonic friendships with any man that I would possibly be – or had been – at all romantically interested in, given half a chance in a parallel dimension. I should just accept the anticipation that I will be rejected, in any event and not just at home, in order to deter such floosiness in the future. I felt guilty and not a little embarrassed.

I got over it, though. I’m not saying that I don’t still feel bad about it, and I sure hope I didn’t end up a catalyst for the breakup of someone’s future marriage, heaven forbid. But I’m also of the mind that if something so extreme were to happen because of an obviously innocent letter, there were bigger trust issues present before I came along, that if it wasn’t me it would be someone else, and that they’d probably both thank me later. Of course, I’ll never know if it was a non-issue or what, will I? I do hope they’ve both forgotten about it by now.

I know Ray will never read this, but if he ever somehow does, I’d just want him to know that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered him; I just wanted to tell him that he meant something to somebody, even if that day was in the past. I was hoping to bring a smile to his face, even if only to please mostly myself. I didn’t mean to cause a row. I wanted a bit of closure, and I certainly got it.

It’s been a slice.