I have had over 15 years to put my words onto ‘paper’ but I can never find the right ones to describe what I went through all those years ago. For years I wanted to write a novel about my experience but each time I sat down to write it, I’d throw it in the trash. I could never seem to capture that locked memory in my head. I’m tiptoeing down the hallway towards door number 40 soon and I feel like it’s time that I write something down, at least for my own healing. Here’s the beginning of the process:
There’s a reason this all happened to me, right?
How It Started
When I was 12 years old, I was in the most fragile, insecure state of my life. I was this scrawny, freckled-faced, redheaded tween that sort of blended into the background. I was quiet, awkward and unsure of myself in every way possible. While other girls my age were starting to blossom and catching boys’ attention, I was hiding in our downstairs bathroom trying to erase freckles from my arms with lemon juice and bleach and impatiently waiting for my boobs to make an appearance (spoiler: I’m still waiting).
The internet was becoming a household commodity and chatrooms were starting to flood webpages. I learned very quickly that I could hold my head up a little higher behind a screen - after all, no one was able to see what I looked like and I no longer had to feel like the knock off version of Anne of Green Gables. There was something addictive about living my confident self online; even if it was hiding behind dial up. After an abundance of “a/s/l” conversations, I found myself drawn to an 11-year-old boy named Leo. There was something about him that held my attention and kept drawing me back.
Leo was a blond tween from Southern California - Santa Barbara, to be specific. On the weekends he would surf with his friends or work in his family’s café, but in the evenings he would spend hours with me chatting about life (and whatever 12-year-olds chat about). We shared interests such as our love for anything Disney, art and television shows. We scanned and swapped photos (yes, scanned) and he was the first boy to ever call me beautiful. I was enamored.
He was this gorgeous little boy with caramel skin and blue eyes. I couldn’t comprehend why he chose me of all people but I was so happy about it that I pushed every ounce of insecurity into the depths of my mind. For now, things were good and I felt attractive for the first time in my tiny little Indiana life.
the digital decade
As time went on, Leo became an every day part of my life - a staple. At age 13, he became my emotional support when my parents were going through a divorce. He comforted me and reassured me that things would get better by talking about how his own parents had separated. He would constantly check on me, leading me to believe that he truly cared. From this point forward, he became my personal security blanket.
Little details of our lives began shaping our relationship. He shared how he and his sister, Victoria, would help their mom at the family cafe on the main strip in Santa Barbara. He mentioned how they carved their names in the wall of the cafe and how they’d watch the parades on main street from the upstairs balcony. I held onto these tiny snippets of his life and stored them in a private bank inside my brain. Occasionally I would pluck those details of his life to visualize what it would be like to be in it. I imagined myself with him, watching parades from the balcony and being friends with his sister, Victoria. It all made perfect sense in my head.
Throughout the years, Leo and I celebrated milestones together - birthdays, drivers licenses and school dances. We mailed letters and photographs to one other and eventually began talking on the phone several times a week (using a pay-as-you-go cellphone). My close friends and family members all knew about him and I began to beg my parents to take me to California to meet him. But, as true loving parents, they never thought that it would be a good idea. As a tween, I pouted at the thought of never being able to meet him in person feeling as though I was missing out on meeting my soulmate.
The day I graduated high school, I called him and we celebrated the end of our K-12 lives together. I remember him saying how proud he was of me and I’ll never forget what those words meant to me in that moment. There was a special place in my heart for him that no one else could take.
We stayed in contact as I moved away to college but the communication slowed down. He stayed in Santa Barbara to help his mom with the family cafe and between my new life at the university and a new social circle, he faded to a small corner of my brain. I began meeting other boys but a wall was built up around me - nothing seemed to compare to this fantasy boy living on the West Coast.
It wasn’t until my sophomore year that we really reconnected. I called him up with a broken heart and vented to him for hours. In his true compassionate nature, he reassured me and put the insecure pieces of me back together. Those phone calls became habitual and eventually took over my life entirely. I was addicted to the thought of him.
Plot Twist
We were growing up together. Time had a way of pulling out questions that I had in my head for years. When would we meet? Is this the person I was meant for? How will our story unfold?
Impatience set in. I was ready to move forward with him or try to move on with my life. I discussed the importance of meeting and he agreed with me, reeling me back in every time doubt pulled me away.
He started making promises to me that he would fly to Indiana. He needed the break from the family cafe and he wanted to see Indiana for the first time. The thought of this gave me hope. But, with each trip planned came an excuse as to why it needed to be canceled. Eventually, the excuses were becoming too much.
At age 22, I had reached my breaking point; it was now or never. I exhausted all of my attempts to get him to visit me in college. I finally decided, instead, that I would go to California - secretly.
I planned a trip in February 2008 to fly out to Santa Barbara with my best friend. This was the first time I would ever visit California and to say I was nervous would be the understatement of a lifetime. I remember my parents being upset with me for booking this trip - but they were more upset because of the dangers (understandably so). But to me, it was something I had to do. I had no choice. I had so many questions that I needed answered.
We flew to Santa Barbara in a small plane and I nearly got sick from the combination of motion sickness and nerves. When we landed in the Santa Barbara Municipal Airport, there was no turning back. We stayed at a small motel near the ocean. We threw our bags on the beds and I immediately pulled out my phone. I called Leo (he had no idea I was coming) and he answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey! Where are you?”
“I’m at my mom’s cafe finishing up my shift. Sorry it’s really loud in here! What are you doing?”
“I’m in Santa Barbara.”
Silence.
Click here to read the whole first chapter of this story.