Wednesday, March 18, 2009

25-year-old Secret

25-Year-Old Secret Revealed

Dear B.J.,

This letter is about to reveal a 25-year-old secret. It’s one I hold close to my heart. One I guard carefully. One I’ve told no one… until today.

I didn’t plan to write you this letter. Didn’t think it over in my head. Didn’t even want to tell you this secret. Then I heard a nasty little rumor. I heard that you wanted to kill me.

Don’t take it personally, but I think that’s a bad idea. Murder is never a good solution. I think we can work this out. Think of our history together. Think of the good times we’ve had. Think of the bad times I’ve helped you through.

You don’t remember? Let me help:

Remember that 50-page paper you wrote for history class? That’s right. The one where everyone else combined illegal drugs with caffeine in order to pull an all-nighter right before the paper was due? Everyone but you. And who do you have to thank for your A +?

That’s right. Me. I sat beside you all night. I never left your side. And what did I get for thanks? Nothing. Not a word. I wasn’t even invited to your graduation.

Speaking of invitations, remember that party at summer camp? You know – the one where you stayed up all night to sew up the legs on your sister’s underwear? I was there that night. You didn’t invite me, but I came anyway. As usual, you had forgotten to ask if I even wanted to be there. I was like a spare tire – taken for granted until you needed me.

If that wasn’t insulting enough, you never even sent a thank-you note when I came to the hospital to visit your dad. When he had trouble breathing after open-heart surgery, I stayed by his bedside every long night.

You come from a sorry family, you know that? No one ever thanks me. I’ve been friends with your family members for generations, and all I get is complaints. I’m ready for some respect.

But if you’re going to respect a man, I guess you have to know his name. That’s my 25-year secret – my name. I don’t like to say it out loud because it makes a lot of people angry.

So before I tell you, I’m begging you – please reconsider this murder thing. Please remember the good times. Please take pity on someone who feels so taken for granted.

Please step away from the sleeping pills.

Your Friend,


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I know all about waiting--for the right guy, for high school to end, for my boobs to come in (two out of three ain't bad).

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