bench to throw Manny the ball. But Lila had asked about him when she called to check in on me. She’d been single since they’d broken up, and I think she was starting to see that the greener grass—you 102
a l l i s o n w i n n s c o t c h
know, the perfect open field that you think exists in your neighbor’s backyard—turned out to already be in her own backyard.
She’d also made a passing reference of her rediscovered lust to Sally, who told her to stop waxing nostalgic, that nothing good ever comes from going back to a broken relationship, but Lila didn’t seem to listen. She was too busy looking back at Zach with rose-colored glasses.
“I think I’ll just tuck that away into my folder called ‘useless information,’ and let it go at that,” Zach replied when I sat back down. “Besides, I’m not a big fan of revisiting the past. There’s too much else to look forward to.”
◆
◆
◆
Dear Diary,
Wel , I’m back at it! Finally, right? I know, I know, I’ve veered wildly off course with this diary-writing exercise, but this time, I’m not writing to bitch and moan or otherwise philosophize.
No, the reason I’m writing is because I tracked down Brandon.
He was a little harder to find than Colin. Yahoo didn’t work, and Google gave me hundreds of matches—I guess that there’s a Brandon Fletcher who also plays for the Florida Marlins—but I diligently searched through each one as if I were conducting background research for the senator until I found him. Turns out that he’s landed in San Francisco and is running the trading floor for a private equity fund. That sort of suits him. He was always looking to trade up anyway.
It was weird. He picked up the phone, and it was almost as if ten years hadn’t passed. He voice was so etched into me that even if I hadn’t known whom I was cal ing, I’ d have known it was him. He, of course, had heard about my diagnosis, so he apolo-The Department of Lost & Found
103
gized for not being in touch. He should have been, he said. He just didn’t know what to say.
I asked him about Darcy, and he cleared his throat and told me that they were divorcing, and because he had said the right thing about him not calling me, I said the right thing about his divorce. I said that I was sorry. But, of course, dear Diary, as you must know, I wasn’t really sorry. I was vindicated. You see, I knew that I’ d win!
I told him that I was calling with some odd questions, and if he didn’t mind, he should try to give me as honest answers as possible. He said he’ d try, and so I opened with the only one that I could think of, perhaps because it was the only one that mattered. I asked him why he cheated on me.
Oh, Diary, before I go any further, I suppose that you need some background. Brandon and I met our freshman year at Dartmouth. I saw him on the lacrosse field one afternoon while I was running on the track, and he literally took my breath away.
I mean it; I had to stop and remind myself to inhale. We circled each other until sophomore year just before the Christmas holidays. We were in the basement of his fraternity house, dancing to the pulsing music of Marky Mark, and suddenly were both too drunk to keep up the farce. He pushed me back into the wal and kissed me. I slept with him that same night. The first and only time I’ d done that. I hated the loss of control, but I gave into it anyway. With Brandon, the air of intoxication just sucked me in. It was like that from the first night and all the nights after.
What I didn’t realize and actually wouldn’t realize until we broke for summer vacation was that Brandon was still promised to his girlfriend back home. She was happily tucked away at Michigan State, doing things like knit ing him freaking socks 104
a l l i s o n w i n n s c o t c h
and naming their firstborn, and when he went home that summer, it was as if I never existed. He only mentioned her in passing, as we kissed good-bye in the van
a l l i s o n w i n n s c o t c h
know, the perfect open field that you think exists in your neighbor’s backyard—turned out to already be in her own backyard.
She’d also made a passing reference of her rediscovered lust to Sally, who told her to stop waxing nostalgic, that nothing good ever comes from going back to a broken relationship, but Lila didn’t seem to listen. She was too busy looking back at Zach with rose-colored glasses.
“I think I’ll just tuck that away into my folder called ‘useless information,’ and let it go at that,” Zach replied when I sat back down. “Besides, I’m not a big fan of revisiting the past. There’s too much else to look forward to.”
◆
◆
◆
Dear Diary,
Wel , I’m back at it! Finally, right? I know, I know, I’ve veered wildly off course with this diary-writing exercise, but this time, I’m not writing to bitch and moan or otherwise philosophize.
No, the reason I’m writing is because I tracked down Brandon.
He was a little harder to find than Colin. Yahoo didn’t work, and Google gave me hundreds of matches—I guess that there’s a Brandon Fletcher who also plays for the Florida Marlins—but I diligently searched through each one as if I were conducting background research for the senator until I found him. Turns out that he’s landed in San Francisco and is running the trading floor for a private equity fund. That sort of suits him. He was always looking to trade up anyway.
It was weird. He picked up the phone, and it was almost as if ten years hadn’t passed. He voice was so etched into me that even if I hadn’t known whom I was cal ing, I’ d have known it was him. He, of course, had heard about my diagnosis, so he apolo-The Department of Lost & Found
103
gized for not being in touch. He should have been, he said. He just didn’t know what to say.
I asked him about Darcy, and he cleared his throat and told me that they were divorcing, and because he had said the right thing about him not calling me, I said the right thing about his divorce. I said that I was sorry. But, of course, dear Diary, as you must know, I wasn’t really sorry. I was vindicated. You see, I knew that I’ d win!
I told him that I was calling with some odd questions, and if he didn’t mind, he should try to give me as honest answers as possible. He said he’ d try, and so I opened with the only one that I could think of, perhaps because it was the only one that mattered. I asked him why he cheated on me.
Oh, Diary, before I go any further, I suppose that you need some background. Brandon and I met our freshman year at Dartmouth. I saw him on the lacrosse field one afternoon while I was running on the track, and he literally took my breath away.
I mean it; I had to stop and remind myself to inhale. We circled each other until sophomore year just before the Christmas holidays. We were in the basement of his fraternity house, dancing to the pulsing music of Marky Mark, and suddenly were both too drunk to keep up the farce. He pushed me back into the wal and kissed me. I slept with him that same night. The first and only time I’ d done that. I hated the loss of control, but I gave into it anyway. With Brandon, the air of intoxication just sucked me in. It was like that from the first night and all the nights after.
What I didn’t realize and actually wouldn’t realize until we broke for summer vacation was that Brandon was still promised to his girlfriend back home. She was happily tucked away at Michigan State, doing things like knit ing him freaking socks 104
a l l i s o n w i n n s c o t c h
and naming their firstborn, and when he went home that summer, it was as if I never existed. He only mentioned her in passing, as we kissed good-bye in the van
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