Dear Jason Jackson,

Dear Jason Jackson,
I think about you on Valentine's Day. Not all day, and I don't get emotional or anything, just a little bothered. A little bothered at myself, feeling a slight twinge of regret in my stomach, thinking about how I was mean. In addition to Valentine's day this year, I thought of you today as well, as I pulled a card out of a shoebox under my bed.

Not many girls can say they were sent rather expensive looking flowers via FTD in 8th grade. I can, though! I was surprised and thankful. If I were the only one who knew I had received them, and I had lived in a fairly reasonable household or had friends who accepted you, I would have probably walked over to your house as soon as they came and said thanks, or at least waved at the bus stop the next day. But those were not the circumstances. Instead of thinking the gesture was cute and juvenile, my parents wanted to know if I knew you had sent them, WHAT I HAD DONE to make you think you should send them, and reminded me about twenty times that I was not old enough to date and that I should not expect my telephone habits to change, just because I had an "admirer." My friend thought of you as nothing more than a (I’m sorry) fat troublemaker. My opinion of you was shaped by this.

Today I was looking for a photograph, but all was forgotten as I opened the card, dated exactly one year after the flowers were sent. Both the handwriting and spelling were atrocious, but the words made me smile. "I know they say third times a charm. So this will be the last time I ask. Will you go out with me. Tell me if you said yes tomorrow at the bus stop. If you say nothing, I will understand."

I'm not trying to make excuses for how I reacted, which was horrible. Originally, I told everyone about the flowers, because I thought it was sweet. The general reaction, however, was to laugh at your desperate attempt, because it seemed quite obvious to everyone else that I would never want to have anything to do with you. When these things were said, I was immediately sorry I had shared our secret, but felt I had little choice but to laugh along with everyone else. I never spoke with you, despite the fact that we walked a whole block down the same sidewalk at the same time each day. I ignored you, afraid that if someone saw us talking and remembered your gift, they would assume that I liked you. This liking, as I recall would have been a great offence, punishable by being ostracized.

The card that followed the following year, left in the handle of my screen door, was opened and then filed quietly into the shoebox it remains in.

Jason, please know that if those flowers came today, I would call you on the telephone and tell you how lovely they are. I would thank you for thinking of me, and ask you how you are. I would send you a thank-you note in the mail, with a smiley face sticker affixed to the envelope. I would appreciate them, and treat their giver with respect.

If you remember me at all, you probably associate me with rejection and rudeness. I am sorry for this, as I remember you as someone thoughtful and non-abrasive. After all, "if I said nothing, you would understand."

I am sorry,
Your old neighbor