P.S. I Still Love You

in the rain when we had to put all the softball bats away after gym.

We started to run back to the building, and I couldn’t run as fast as

you, so you stopped and grabbed my bag too. It was even better than

if you’d grabbed my hand. I still remember the way you looked—

your T-shirt was stuck to your back, your hair wet like you just came

out of the shower. When it started to pour, you whooped and

hollered like a little kid. There was this moment—you looked back

at me, and your grin was as wide as your face. You said, “Come on,

LJ!”

It was right then. That’s when I knew, all the way down to my

soaking-wet Keds. I love you, John Ambrose McClaren. I really love

you. I might have loved you for all of high school. I think you might

have loved me back. If only you weren’t moving away, John! It’s so

unfair when people move away. It’s like their parents just decide

something and no one else gets a say in it. Not that I even deserve a

say—I’m not your girlfriend or anything. But you at least deserve a

say.

I was really hoping that one day I would get to call you Johnny.

Your mom came to get you after school once, and a bunch of us

were hanging out on the front steps. And you didn’t see her car, so

she honked and called out, “Johnny!” I loved the sound of that.

Johnny. One day, I bet your girlfriend will call you Johnny. She’s

really lucky. Maybe you already have a girlfriend right now. If you

do, know this—once upon a time in Virginia, a girl loved you.

I’m going to say it just this once, since you’ll never hear it anyway.

Good-bye, Johnny.