Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [112]
I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I told everyone I was going back to being a boy, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I keep thinking that maybe, somehow, somewhere, I could be happy. I don’t know where, or how, or when. But I keep taking my hormones while I try to figure it out.
I’d like to keep writing to you and hear what you’re doing, but I can’t. Please don’t try to find me. Whatever my next step is, I have to take it on my own. And don’t wait for me. I might never be back.
When you think of me, don’t remember that last time we saw each other. Remember that night at Mizzou. Remember our friendship. Remember that you helped me when I needed you.
Give my best to your sister and the gang. I’ll think of you often.
Goodbye,
Sage
I reread the letter, then folded it and stuck it in my empty desk. I stared into space for what seemed like hours, thinking about what to do next.
I could track Sage down. Rob would know where Tammi had moved to. A guy like that wouldn’t be a hard egg to crack. And then what? Show up at her new house one day, after she asked me not to? And tell her … what? To move back to Missouri? That was terrible advice in any circumstance. Tell her I still cared about her? Thanks to my mental hospital breakdown, she already knew that.
Alone in my dorm room, I suddenly felt trapped. So I decided to go outside and get some air. I hoped that would clear my head.
I locked up and cut across the small grassy area between Graham Hall and the parking lot. I sat on a concrete bench and wished that I was a smoker. This was my first day of college, and all I could think about was the woman who had made me angrier and happier than anyone else. If I allowed myself to forget Sage, then I’d be no better than my father, bailing when things got rough. But if I sat around and waited for her to come back, it would be Brenda all over again.
The nasty truth was, I might never see Sage again. It was what she said she wanted. She deserved to be happy. And if happiness meant leaving the state, then so be it. Even if it meant cutting off all contact with me. Tammi was right; that was Sage’s decision, not mine.
I thought back over the past year with her. The fighting, the talking, the kissing, the friendship.
Sage drove me crazy, but I didn’t regret knowing her. She made me too happy. She once told me I made her feel beautiful, special, like she belonged. I’d never told her she did the same thing for me. I’d never forget her. It would be Sage, not Brenda, who I compared future girls to.
I chuckled. Any future relationship I had wouldn’t be nearly as complicated as the one I’d had with Sage. And probably not as fun.
I’d never give up hoping for that letter with an out-of-state postmark, but it might never come. Sage knew how to reach me. In the meantime, we both had our lives to live.
Speaking of girls, over in the parking lot, a skinny chick was struggling to remove a packing crate from the back of a hatchback car. The box probably weighed more than she did. She’d lift one end, then collapse after a second or two. Wearily, I got up to help her.
Up close, the girl was almost scrawny, nothing but gristle and bone. She had thin blond hair that rose up too high on her forehead, no chin, and two big blue eyes that thanked me before I even offered to help.
“Thank you!” she gasped as I hefted the box. She attempted to hold half of it, but it was easier for me to carry it myself. When she closed the back of her car, I noticed it had Ohio plates.
“You live in Graham?” I asked.
“Yeah, first floor.” As we walked to the dorm, she buzzed around me with the annoying persistence of someone who wants to help but can’t. She held the door for me, then stood awkwardly in the doorway, not realizing I’d have to squeeze by her.
She repeated her thanks as she fumbled with her room’s lock. “I’m from out of town. I didn’t have anyone