The Mystery Texter

The Mystery Texter - Chapter 7 (of 8)

Text message from Brock Sanderson to Unknown Contact. Friday June 11

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at 10:16pm:

For most of the last four months, I've been able to put Warren Lewis and my mother's murder out of my mind. For the last four months, I've gotten back to feeling like myself.

Until today.

For four months, I heard little from my lawyer, nothing from The McLaughlin Group and zilch from William Jones. For four months, I was feeling more like the guy who spent the last year living his new life in his new apartment with a combination of new and old friends.

Today I learned the cold hard truth: Warren Lewis is innocent and William Jones is guilty. Well, Warren Lewis is still guilty of plenty, including rape, but he was framed for my mother's murder. Do you think he deserves to be let out of prison? Are the years he already served enough for the crimes he committed?

I couldn't lie. I couldn't pretend that I didn't know what I knew. No matter how evil I still believe Warren Lewis to be, or how much I still think he should remain in prison, my conscience forced me to make a new statement that will be key evidence in his inevitable release.

But you know what? It's all good. He claims to be "reformed" and "born again". So...no worries, right?

I just all but ensured the freedom of a rapist drug dealer who caused, if not committed, a murder. What did you accomplish today?

Text message from Unknown Contact to Brock Sanderson. Friday June 11

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at 10:47pm:

I started typing only to erase it all three times now. I can't make it go away and I have no magic words. Condolences are trite and useless. I could reassure you that you did the right thing, but I won't. Only you can make that judgment and it sounds like you were compelled to do what you did.

If he gets released, he won't truly be free. He spent most of his life in prison and, from what I've read, he has no one meaningful to return to. He had no support at his first trial and I doubt he'll have anyone this time around either. Not anyone significant. Not anyone who will care beyond the spectacle of his release. It's like he went to bed one night when he was twenty and he woke up in his fifties. Most of his life was lost. No matter what happens, he won't get that back nor does he deserve to.

Prison redemptions, rebirths, finding Jesus... It's all bullshit.

My day doesn't compare to yours. I won't even attempt to amuse you with trivialities. All you can do is what you believe to be the right thing. You did that.

I'm here if you want to talk more. It's not too late. (It's never too late with me). If I can do anything...

Text message from Brock Sanderson to Unknown Contact. Friday June 11

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at 10:56pm:

As usual, it helps that you listen. It helps that you're honest. It helps that you're there.

But there is something you can do.

I'm ready. I want you to reveal yourself. I'm ready for more and I want that "more" to be with you. In real life.

Text message from Unknown Contact to Brock Sanderson. Friday June 11

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at 11:02pm:

Um... What if I'm not who you hope I am? What if I disappoint you? What would you do? I have two important relationships with you. I'm afraid I might lose you twice. Double devastation. I couldn't handle that.

Text message from Brock Sanderson to Unknown Contact. Friday June 11

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at 11:06pm:

That won't happen. It can't. The point of all of this was to get to know each other on another level. Mission accomplished. I might be surprised by who you are, but there's no way I'll be disappointed. I'm ready to change things. It's time to blend these two relationships into one.

Text message from Unknown Contact to Brock Sanderson. Friday June 11

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at 11:11pm:

I would say, "It's 11:11, make a wish," but you've already made yours. How would this work? What do you suggest?

Text message from Brock Sanderson to Unknown Contact. Friday June 11

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at 11:13pm:

Tomorrow is Todd's wedding. If spending the evening at The Carlisle wasn't already marked on your engagement calendar, add it now. Swing by sometime after 10:30 when Todd and Jessica plan to make their grand departure. I'll stick around until the bitter end. As the place begins to empty out, come find me. Walk up to me, tap me on the shoulder and introduce yourself as Butch. Call me Fluffy. Well... Yeah... Maybe make sure nobody else is within earshot first.

Text message from Unknown Contact to Brock Sanderson. Friday June 11

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at 11:14pm:

LMAO.

I'm scared shitless, but...yeah. Let's do this! Are these really our last texts? Wow! Okay. Tomorrow. IRL

— Your favorite robot is signing off for the final time.

~~

This one is different from all previous encounters. Different isn't always bad. I like change. Change can be good. Not everything is different though. My eyes still won't open. I'm still lying on my back on my couch. I am still stark naked. I still can't speak and I still can't move.

What is different is that my Admirer does not touch me. Not with the devilish hands that usually roam my captive body. Today, my Admirer is on my body, like a warm blanket, enveloping me from head to toe. It feels wonderful. And then there is that brilliant and talented mouth. Little kisses begin at my navel and I giggle inside of my head. But instead of the typical southbound journey that mouth has always taken in the past that has ended in the game of endurance that I always happily lose, it kisses and licks its way north. Up my stomach, around my ribs, across my nipples and lots of sucking on my neck. Goosebumps explode all over my body.

Once my neck has been thoroughly ravaged, I get a tongue in my ear, a kiss on the cheek, a kiss on the other cheek, a tongue in the other ear, a kiss on the nose and then finally, our mouths meet.

My Admirer sinks into it. It starts out soft, gentle and slow; my body completely swaddled in comfort and warmth. The tongue pokes at my lips, parts them and finds its way to mine. We have all the time in the world and it feels like time isn't even a concept that has been invented.

We nibble each other's lips. We lick each other's teeth. Our tongues rub together and we just kiss the shit out of each other. I am as turned on as ever, but today is not about the penis or the orgasm, and I'm okay with that. We just kiss, seemingly forever.

~~

Todd's wedding day.

Sammy presses my buzzer just before 7:00, lays out his suit on Kyle's bed and joins us in our morning workout.

In the fitness center, after a good run, I'm sitting next to Matthew at a table by the juice bar. He takes a long pull from his water bottle and says, "Those are some pretty cool sneaks that you gave 3.0. You know, I'm about a ten-and-a-half myself."

I snap him with my towel. "How come everyone wants my shoes?"

"You finally have something cool," Matthew laughs. "Look, they were yours for over three decades. Now it's someone else's turn."

"No. They were mine for like three months, then they were gone for like three decades, then they were mine again for like three minutes. Now they're back to being gone."

He Chuckles.

We look across the room at where Kyle and Sammy are more talking than working out.

"My guess is that you showed 3.0 the shoes, saw his eyes almost pop out of his head and it was over. The shoes were his."

I give Matthew a cool stare, "You think you have me all figured out, huh?"

"What I think is that you're the best dad I know and you raised the best young men. And even though he's not a six-year-old little boy anymore, unintentionally making everybody laugh because he's the smartest person in the room, somewhere in your mind's eye, he's still exactly that. Like you'd say 'No' to that Kid." Matthew looks away.

I've been close with Matthew for almost a year and a half now and he never talks about his parents, his childhood or his family life at all. When he's ready, he'll tell me his story. In the meantime, he knows I'm here for him.

The moment passes and Matthew says, "At least this time you'll know where they are. You can see them, visit them. And you know 3.0 will take fantastic care of them."

I scoff, "Yeah, if he doesn't sell them." I straighten my left leg and hold out my foot. "Hey, my everyday runners are three years old now and beginning to wear out. They're Nikes too. Who wants them? I'll start the bidding at $273. That's the adjusted value of $110 in 1989." I don't know if that's close to accurate, but it sounded good.

Matthew, taking a big gulp of water as I began my rant, loses some of it in a fit of laughter.

We banter back and forth for a while. As the small talk fizzles, he says, "You don't have to, but if you want to tell me what's going on, I'm right here. I've got nothing but time."

"What about you? I can tell there's some—"

He cuts me off by raising his hand. "I will one day. I'm not ready yet."

He says it in a way so I know that door's closed. For now.

He puts a hand on my arm and sighs, "My shit's not going anywhere and it's old news that's long over. Your shit's happening now."

I look at my friend sitting next to me. His deep brown eyes are trained on mine. He's Matthew. He makes everything so easy. Before I even realize it's happening, I find I'm telling him everything. Even my long buried secret.

When I'm finally finished, Matthew is unphased. He does what Matthew does and gives me a hug. Who needs more words?

The Fitness Center door opens and Leya walks toward us. She smiles at me and waves at Matthew.

She says, "I was just heading out on my way to ending one relationship and beginning another."

I had called Brian and told him about Leya before giving her his phone number. He was dumbfounded. He thought he'd go his whole life never knowing his grandchild.

"It's the weekend," I say. "Will they be there?" She knows I'm referring to The McLaughlin Group.

"Oh yeah. The big trial is scheduled for Monday. They'll be in."

"Good luck. We'll see you later, right?"

She smiles reassuringly, "I might miss the ceremony, but I'll definitely make the reception." She disappears out the door.

Since I had just finished my story, Matthew doesn't need a translation. He asks me, "Still no sign of William?"

"No," I check the time on my Fitbit. "He's been MIA for forty-eight hours now."

"What would you do if you found him?"

"What do you mean?"

"What would you do or say if he was standing right here, right now?"

"I guess I would encourage him to get a lawyer."

Matthew says, "Okay. Fine. Let's talk emotionally. You haven't seen him since you found out the truth about what he did. Here he stands. How do you feel? Would you punch him? Would you scream at him? Would you hug him? Would you tell him you understand?"

Wow. I should never go see Susan again. All I need is Matthew.

"I really don't know."

"You just finished telling me your whole story. You now know the truth after three decades. But as you told it to me, you didn't sound angry. You didn't sound like you wanted to rip his head off. Did Brian properly convince you that William wasn't responsible for his actions?"

"I think maybe he did." I sip my water. "I mean, he took the coke. That was his decision, no one else was there, forcing him. But he didn't know what was in it and I do believe he didn't know what he was doing or even remember doing it."

"Okay. So, don't think. Just feel. He's right here. Go."

"Well, I'm assuming he'd be scared shitless. Wherever he is right now, he's facing a reality he never knew existed. And, unlike me, he doesn't have people like you and Leya and the Kid over there plus so many others to support him."

I pause for a long moment and Matthew waits me out.

"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't hug him, but I would tell him I understand and try to get him help."

Matthew fake-clinks his plastic water bottle against mine and says, "You are a better person than I."

With no natural segue at all, I say, "You know, way back in February I almost told you that I'm bisexual."

"Oh?"

"Mm hmm. When I told you about my mystery texts from my admirer, you told me not to assume that it wasn't a guy. I don't assume. I fall in love with people for who they are. Laura was..." I stop.

Matthew, with his cool eyes and warm smile says, "Tell me."

"We were sixteen when we started dating. I already knew I loved her even before then. She was kind and generous and, yes beautiful, but it was the way she made me feel. There was a spark, a feeling, an energy - I just knew. And knowing that I made her feel the same way made me love her even more. Six months later, November 10

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happened. She was so caring and patient after my mom was killed. I know it sounds so obvious, like what kind of ass wouldn't be?"

I use my sleeve to wipe a tear. "It's hard to explain. She was exactly who I needed her to be. I had no doubts before the attack, but after? I couldn't imagine a life without her. I was only eighteen years old when I knew I would marry Laura Madison. I knew I would be her partner forever. And that special electricity I felt whenever I was near her never faded. When we dropped Kyle off at Augustana for the first time, Todd had already been away for four years. We were officially empty-nesters. Sure, we cried when we hugged him goodbye, but really, we were happy. Happy for Todd who had just graduated a few months earlier and was already starting the career of his dreams. Happy for Kyle as he was beginning his college journey. And happy for us to begin our next adventure. It was exciting; more like a beginning than an ending. The two of us were always enough."

Now Matthew is the one wiping tears. "I was going to say that I wish I could have known her but somehow, now I feel like I do."

I let out a breath, "Sorry. Obviously, Todd's wedding has me thinking about things. I couldn't be happier for them. I couldn't love them more. Jessica is already a daughter to me."

Matthew puts a hand on my shoulder, "I'm kind of an idiot. Of course the emotions of today will be complicated for you."

"Matthew, you're the farthest thing from an idiot. You're one of those special, electric people yourself. Have you ever found anyone who makes you feel that way?"

He clears his throat. "I've never had a bond like that. At least not one that was ever mutually realized. Yet. It's that close emotional connection that's so hard to find."

He holds my gaze a beat longer than he needs to. My eyes begin to moisten as my cheeks redden and heat up. I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding. "I uh... We need to... I think—"

"We should probably start getting ready." It's Kyle, suddenly standing next to our table.

Matthew finally averts his gaze from me and zeros in on the kids. "Great run today, you two. Again tomorrow?"

Sammy says, "I can't. I have an early family thing. But Kyle will be here. He weighs like one pound more than he did nine months ago when we left for senior year and he's freaking out about it. I think the one pound is right here."

Sammy playfully pokes at Kyle's soft side, below the rib cage, causing Kyle to flinch and swat his hand away.

Matthew scoffs, "One pound, 3.0? That could be last night's big dinner or a bowel movement that hasn't happened yet."

"Ew," says Kyle. "I wouldn't have thought about it at all if Dad hadn't told me I had to wear his old 1980s skinny-jeans tomorrow. They have a twenty-nine-inch waist, like all of my pants, but those are super tight. I don't ever want to be a thirty."

Matthew scoffs again, "First of all, vain much? Second of all, a thirty-inch waist is definitely in the cards at some point. Third of all, back in 1989, the technology to properly measure fabric was in its infancy. I mean really, what did they know back then? They thought acid-wash was a good look."

All three of them laugh and Sammy says, "Maybe the acid shrunk the denim."

More laughter.

Kyle looks at me, "Are you okay, Dad?"

I'm still thinking about what Matthew was saying. I snap out of it.

"Yeah. Of course. Let's go get ready."

~~

Lombard, Illinois is the Lilac Capital of the World and Lilacia Park is pretty much the reason why. It also happens to be the venue for Todd and Jessica's ceremony. We are a few weeks past peak bloom but it's still magnificent. The eighteen million photos we'll be herded into taking after will beautifully document the occasion forever.

Their wedding is a humanist wedding. It hasn't even started yet, but it's already my favorite wedding of all of the dozens of weddings I've ever been to. I'd probably feel that way regardless because my son is the groom, but I really do love this wedding. Humanist weddings are welcoming, inclusive, freeform, void of stuffy tradition and, most importantly, non-religious. I'm all for that.

Jessica is stunning as she walks down the aisle with her father. I look toward the front at my son. Todd is handsome, watching the procession. With Kyle standing next to him, I realize we three Sanderson men clean up pretty good.

I close my eyes and for a moment, I'm back at my own wedding day. Laura had always wanted an autumn wedding, so we got married in October, 1994. We have some beautiful outdoor photos of us surrounded by multicolored leaves in their autumnal peak. Like today, but totally different, it was perfect. I imagine Dan and Sarah, one row behind me, remembering that day too.

Despite the tragic and untimely ending, I was the luckiest idiot alive. I had a third of a century with the most amazing partner I could have imagined. It wasn't perfect; no relationship is. At times it took work. But it was true love with no regrets. If I could go back to sixteen years old, I wouldn't change a thing. Well, not about Laura, anyway. Obviously, there are two days in my life, decades apart, that I would change of I could, but there go those "what ifs" again.

Laura should be here, right by my side. Her firstborn son's wedding. The mother of the groom. At the reception, there will be a father and bride dance, but there will not be a mother and groom dance. It sucks. I know firsthand; my mother wasn't at my wedding either. And, while I love Lydia, Mom should be here right now too. The space next to me isn't literally empty though. I'm on the aisle followed by Dad, then Lydia, Janet and Ritchie. Behind me are Dan, Sarah and Nick. The middle rows are filled with extended family and Todd's friends. Further toward the back of our side is my posse. Matthew, Charlie, Abbi, Jose, Angela, Sammy, Shelby and yes, even Leya slipped into a seat just under the wire.

Before the bride and groom say their words, those standing up give little presentations. Mostly readings or performances of either selected or original works. Math teacher and groomsman Josh Pearson reads an original poem that he credits his brother with writing. Kyle, the English/Lit major, surprises everyone by skipping the readings and instead, singing a song. His old acoustic guitar seemingly materializes out of nowhere. How did it get here? Yes, he rode over with Sammy, but I walked out the door with them. Kyle was not carrying his guitar.

Matthew.

Matthew must have snuck into my apartment and grabbed it after we left. No wonder he declined when I offered him a ride.

Kyle did not take his guitar lessons very far, but he is modestly competent. He knows his chords and can handle the basics. From the first strum, I recognize the song and my heart skips several beats. Being a musician, I had always been the bigger Beatles fan, but

In My Life

was Laura's favorite. It was played at our wedding. I've never heard it done before like Kyle does it now, stripped down to its barest bones. He gently plucks out the basic melody between the verses and sings the rest almost like an acapella piece with the occasional support of a strummed chord here and there. It is stark, haunting, stunning and beautiful.