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You certainly took me by surprise, and I must say, you never did cease to amaze me. After all these years, you decide to reach out to me? I almost deleted your email when I read your name. I kicked this back and forth, whether I should reply to you, but my curiosity got the best of me.
I guess I’m flattered that ten years later, you are thinking about me. I do find it funny we both still live in our hometown. Were you aware? I always figured you would have moved on— married someone important. But I know, you didn’t marry at all. I suppose you never found anyone who measured up to your standards.
I didn’t open the invite to our class reunion when I received it last week. In fact, reading our school’s name made my stomach turn. I won’t drive by Grand Station High. I can’t. Do you understand the magnitude of what you did to me? I can only hope, now you do, and you want to clear your conscience. I’d ask what happened to prompt your desperate need for absolution if that’s what this is, but honestly, I don’t care.
I always wondered if you ever evolved as a person. I’ve changed, and in more ways than you can imagine. I prayed time would weave its magic on the most self-centered and immature. I’m probably wrong. Do you have some elaborate scheme planned to annihilate any shred of confidence you believe remains within me?
You’ve stirred up so many emotions by contacting me. Do you remember Valentine’s Day of our senior year? I’ve never been so happy or so miserable, as I was that day. Everyone expected the popular kids to receive dozens of roses. But when flower after flower arrived on my desk, I thought to myself, there was a god, and he had smiled on me.
My naïve blissfulness crashed to the ground the moment I spotted you in the hall laughing. Only a few seconds were needed for me to realize you had done this. You bought and sent all those roses to me for the sole purpose of deriving pleasure from my humiliation.
Countless embarrassing events are etched in my memory, thanks to you. I could recount every shameful detail, but Valentine’s Day was the worst. Make no mistake, you didn’t win, and you didn’t break me. I’m different, and I’m stronger. This new me can’t be pushed around by you. I should show up at our reunion just for the shock factor.
I haven’t decided if I care to subject myself to potential pain. More convincing and more apologizing is essential if you wish to inspire a face-to-face meet— a lot more.
I’ll sign off with your favorite cruel nickname for me,
Jabba the Jim