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  Return to Sender

  By Roberta Blablanski

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2018 Roberta Blablanski

  ISBN 9781634868228

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  For Riina—While I can’t give you a lifetime supply of fries, I can give you this story.

  * * * *

  Return to Sender

  By Roberta Blablanski

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 1

  Drew, Present Day

  The alley still looks the same, even after thirty years. The green rusted dumpster had been replaced with a larger, red model, the blacktop now gray cracked cement, but it still feels the same. Deep shadows from the tall buildings cut the alley off from the rest of the world. It is a keeper of all the secrets I hold dear to me.

  Thirty years ago, Wes and I were chasing each other down this alley, our laughter echoing off the buildings. At fifteen, we were carefree.

  I vividly recall our first kiss. We were breathing hard from full-speed running, our lips connected as we struggled for air.

  There were other stolen kisses, as many as we could get. Pretty soon, kisses evolved into caresses and clumsy gropes in the shadows. But we were always on alert, listening for anyone who might stumble upon us.

  In the dim light, I finally find the faded letters written in green Magic Marker on a brick, hidden behind the gutter:

  Drew + Wes 4-ever

  I trace the letters with my index finger. The day Wes wrote those words would be the first day of the rest of our lives. We made plans for the future: college, jobs, a house with a yard for a dog or two. We were kids with big dreams, kids whose biggest challenge was to find clean socks to wear each morning. Funny how reality can change one’s dreams in the blink of an eye.

  I turn to the sound of footsteps.

  “Wes.”

  “Drew,” comes the reply.

  I recognize the dimples in his cheeks from yards away, one of Wes’ many features burned into my memory. His once blonde hair is more silver, but still full and thick and wavy, just like I remember. My fingers flex with the muscle memory of combing through his mane when we cuddled in either of our bedrooms during the rare moments we found ourselves alone at home.

  There is no awkward fumbling now. No should we hug? Shake hands? Nod at each other?

  Simultaneously, we reach out and embrace in the tightest hug. We are both thicker around the middle, the inevitable middle-aged spread.

  I press my face against his shoulder—Wes has at least four inches on me—and fight back tears. I am coming home in more ways than one. I am not only returning to my childhood neighborhood, I am returning to my first and only true love.

  “God, it is so good to see you.” The rumble of Wes’ words vibrates through me. I squeeze him tightly before loosening my grip and leaning back to get a good look at his face.

  His stubble matches the silver in his hair. He now has deep laughter lines around his eyes, but they are still as stormy blue as ever. His lips spread in a smile and I fight the urge to ravish him right there on the dirty concrete. I can almost hear our cries of pleasure echo off the buildings. Time has only made him more desirable.

  Returning his smile, I agree, “It’s wonderful to see you, too.”

  I had knots in my stomach since the day we agreed to meet, two months ago. Those knots became tighter, until I thought I was having some sort of medical emergency on the plane. Now that Wes is here, in my arms, the tension melts away.

  We remain in that comforting embrace for several moments. Do I have to let him go? It is irrational to think he’d disappear for decades again if I release him.

  “If we stay out here much longer, the mosquitoes will eat us up.”

  “Let them carry us away. I don’t want to let you go just yet.” I rub my face into his shirt, inhaling the scent of fabric softener and sweat.

  His chuckle is soft and soothing. “Let’s get some dinner and then we can discuss the pros and cons of mosquito abduction.”

  * * * *

  Wes, Present Day

  The local diner I worked at briefly in high school is now a dollar store. A shopping mall with a convenience store, a payday loan place, cell phone repair shop, and tax preparation office fill the empty field we used to play in as kids. The apartment building Drew and I grew up in is still standing, the exterior largely unchanged.

  Drew and I were both raised by single mothers in low income housing. Relying on welfare, food pantries, hand-me-downs, and the generosity of teachers was the way of life growing up, and it’s what bonded us. In the eighties, the town instituted a lottery system whereby children of poorer families were chosen to be bussed across town to the upper-middle class schools. Lucky for me, when I moved to town in eighth grade and was chosen for the program, Drew was a veteran.

  The bus ride to and from school took anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour, it gave us plenty of time to get to know each other and become best friends. The rich kids at our school snubbed us and made fun of our worn, off-brand clothing, but we had each other. Aside from a brief misunderstanding, we were inseparable until circumstances tore us apart.

  Chapter 2

  Wes, Summer 1986

  My arms were getting sore and heavy from carrying the paper grocery bag containing all of my worldly belongings, my legs ached from the mile-long walk from the bus stop to our new apartment building. My mom’s long, quick strides were almost impossible for me to match, and I had to jog several steps every five minutes or so to keep up with her.

  We had spent the seven hour bus ride mostly in silence. This was a familiar journey, if not the same scenery, but the same circumstances. My mother’s last boyfriend didn’t sign on to parent her fatherless child, and kicked us out after six months of living in his crappy one-bedroom apartment. As if I enjoyed sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor in the corner of his living room, and having no privacy.

  I had just turned thirteen and my hormones were going haywire. I’d lost count of how many times I had to discreetly wash my underwear from my almost nightly wet dreams.

  The breakup came at a good time, all things considered. It w
as still summertime, and my schooling wouldn’t be interrupted by a move. Through the grapevine, my mother received word of an affordable apartment, and a night job at a factory up north. We stayed a couple of nights in a shelter, until she could scrape together enough money for our bus tickets. She didn’t have a job that I knew of, but I didn’t question where she got the cash in such a short period of time.

  The apartment building was three stories of dark brown brick. A chain link fence surrounded the property, dead grass, and dirt. Not the most welcoming looking place. A boy who appeared to be my age was hanging off the fence in front of the building. His dark brown mullet was damp with sweat, his bare feet dirty.

  The boy watched with undisguised curiosity as mom and I approached the walkway to the building. I set my paper bag on the ground to unlatch the gate. The boy hopped over and held open the gate. Taking her cue, mom bustled past me, not acknowledging the boy staring at me.

  “Wes!” Mom, in the doorway to the lobby, shouted to me around the lit cigarette in her mouth.

  I hastily retrieved my bag, gave a curt nod to the boy, and scurried after her.

  The lobby was dimly lit and smelled damp. The scuffed white tile looked as though the floor hadn’t had a good cleaning in years. On the left wall was a system of cubbies with peeling numbers stuck to the bottom of each. Mom reached into the cubby labeled 311, and removed a sealed manila envelope. The contents jangled as she ripped it open and shook out two keys into her hand.

  The musty, damp smell from the lobby carried into the stairwell. With a single bare bulb on each landing, and no windows, it was full of deep shadows. I waved away the cigarette smoke further obscuring my view.

  Our apartment was all the way at the end of the hall. The excitement of having a bedroom of my own was replaced by the anticipation of finding out just who that boy was.

  * * * *

  Drew, Summer 1986

  The day I first laid eyes on Wes changed my life forever. The tall boy trailing behind the painfully thin woman puffing on a cigarette looked like any other boy in my grade. There had been talk in the building about a new family renting Mr. Baxter’s old apartment, and I had been hanging around the yard for days, hoping to get a glimpse of my new neighbors.

  My plan was to introduce myself and welcome them to the neighborhood. Nothing exciting ever happened here (well, aside from Mr. Baxter having a stroke and dying in his kitchen). However, when the moment arrived, my rehearsed speech evaporated.

  Into the building they went while I remained at the front of the walkway, gate gaping open. I revised my mission to be ready and willing to help them carry up their belongings when the moving truck showed up instead. Turned out, there would be no truck.

  * * * *

  “You got a phone book?”

  I was outside sitting on my haunches and drawing figures in the dirt with a stick when Wes found me. I squinted up at him, shading my eyes with my free hand from the sun.

  “Yeah, upstairs.” I stood, brushing the dirt from my hands on the seat of my shorts. “My apartment is right next to yours. What grade you gonna be in? I’m going to be in eighth grade at Woodcreek. It’s waaaay across town, like really far. A lot farther than Oakwood Junior High. That’s the school down the road.” I waved vaguely in the direction of the school.

  “The good thing about Woodcreek,” I continued, “is that I won’t have to switch schools next year. Woodcreek is junior high and high school. If I was going to Oakwood, I’d have to switch to Lemoore High for ninth grade. The schools are right next door to each other, but still.”

  “I haven’t registered for school yet, but I will be in the eighth grade, too. That’s why I need a phone book, so my mom can call the school board to get all that shit set up.”

  “Man, wouldn’t it be rad if we were in the same class?”

  “Sure.” His reply was noncommittal as he matched me step for step up the stairs.

  He followed me into my apartment, checking out the space that made up the living room and kitchen. The bar that served to separate the rooms was covered with sheets of rough drawings. I had half-heartedly started creating a comic book to occupy my long summer days.

  “Set up’s the same as yours. Make yourself at home and I’ll find the phone book for ya.”

  He walked over to the bar and shuffled through my pages.

  “Um, that’s nothing. Just some silly stuff I waste time on.” Other than my mom, I had shown no one my creation. I couldn’t read Wes and had no idea what he would think of it.

  “This is super cool.” He tapped a panel I had drawn that morning of my superhero, Captain Fabulous, saving a city from the fashion police. It was very campy, a word I would learn several years later when I expanded upon the rudimentary story and art.

  “Yeah? It’s a hobby. I mean, I truly like art but it isn’t practical, so I only do it during school breaks.” Even with his praise, I wanted to scoop up the pages and tuck them away in a drawer. My mom always said drawing was a waste of time. She had big aspirations for me to get a job in an office and be rich and successful, and drawing silly pictures wasn’t a means to that end. By contrast, Wes’ praise made me stand up a bit taller and puff my chest out some. Having someone appreciate my work was a good feeling.

  “You got a whole story going with this?” He picked up a few pages and glanced at them.

  “It’s a really rough draft, and not much to look at. Here’s that phone book you wanted.” I dropped the thick book on top of the sheets. The colored pencils I was using to fill out my comic panels cascaded to the floor.

  “Shit!” Wes hopped off the barstool at the same time I bent down to pick up the pencils. Crouching on the ground, our hands collided as we reached for the same pencil. Our eyes met as his palm engulfed the top of my hand. Looking up at his face, my breath caught.

  His eyes were framed by thick, light blonde lashes, a spectacular contrast to his vibrant, deep blue eyes. I sunk into those pools of coolness as the warmth from his hand traveled up my arm and neck to heat my face.

  The shutting of the front door effectively broke the weirdly charged moment. My mom must be home from work.

  “Drew, why is the door wide open?”

  Yanking my hand from his, I shifted my gaze to the left to avoid eye contact. “I guess you get to meet my mom.”

  Chapter 3

  Wes, May 1987

  “Race ya to the alley. Loser has to do both of our math homework!” I took off at top speed.

  “That’s not fair! You got a head start.” Drew’s voice grew fainter as my feet carried me further and further away from him. The blazing hot sun was all the motivation I needed to get to the shaded alley as quickly as my legs would take me.

  The pounding of his feet got louder right before he jumped onto my back. Shocked laughter was forced out of me at the collision of his body with mine. I linked my arms under his legs. He looped his arms around my neck and held on tight.

  I jogged the rest of the way to the alley with Drew hanging on my back. He was a short, skinny thing. Not much heavier than my backpack the first week of school. The same backpack that Stan and his crew of bullies attacked with a scissors yesterday, rendering it useless. Until I could afford a replacement, Drew was carrying my books and supplies for me because of some unwarranted sense of responsibility. Stan had put a target on my back on day one of eighth grade, when he saw that Drew and I were friends. Apparently, Drew had been the butt of Stan and his crew’s cruel jokes and pranks for years. By association, I was a target, too.

  Drew hopped off near the entrance to the alley and sped past me like a bullet. “Beat ya! I won!” He dropped his backpack to the ground and danced around, pumping his fists in the air.

  “Now who isn’t being fair?” I jogged up to meet him and arched an eyebrow at him.

  “You’re a sucker to fall for that.” The smug look on his face made me grin.

  “I’ll show you a sucker.” I stalked toward him, backing him up against the brick wall.
Caging him in with my palms to the brick on either side of his head, I leaned my face down to make better eye contact with him. “I bet I can still make you do the math homework. Call it a punishment for cheating.”

  “Oh yeah?” he challenged with a lift of his chin. “How do you suppose you’re going to do that?” We were both breathing heavy from our run, and his breath ghosted my cheek. He licked his lips, drawing my attention to their pink wetness.

  “Like this.” Without another thought, I pressed my lips to his. A sharp breath escaped his mouth. I started to pull back, certain he was going to knee me in the balls. Instead, he gripped my forearms and kissed back.

  I’m not going to lie; that kiss was awkward. As far as I knew, Drew had never kissed anyone, and neither had I. We fumbled through what we thought were good kisses, never brave enough to introduce our tongues to the mix.

  * * * *

  The honking of a passing car’s horn jolted us from our embrace. With sweat dripping down his face, and his cheeks a lovely shade of pink—from the heat or the kiss, who knew?—it hit me how utterly gorgeous Drew was. His dark brown eyes were lovely. I could easily get lost in their depths. His nose upturned at the end, giving him an impish appearance.

  “So, about that math homework,” I squeaked uncomfortably. Drew was staring up at my mouth with wide eyes, full of an emotion I couldn’t identify. I chewed on my lip, still tasting the remnants of the Big League Chew he was chomping on earlier in the day.

  The moment dragged on for what felt like a lifetime. Someone had to say something, or we’d be out here in the alley until graduation.

  “Look, don’t have a cow. I’m sorry I did that. It was a joke. Ha ha. Yeah, just a funny joke.” Backtracking seemed like the right game plan.

  His mouth opened and closed several times like a fish out of water. He blinked and looked me straight in the eyes. “A joke? Nothing more than a joke?” His voice wavered, no more than a whisper.

  “Yeah, dude. Don’t sweat it. C’mon, let’s go home and get started on those equations.” I pushed away from his body and took several steps toward the street. Hearing a sniffle, I turned around to find Drew silently crying. Tears were streaming down his face, mixing with the sweat. My best friend in the entire world was hurt, and I was the probable cause.