My High School Girlfriend Showed Up at My House 48 Years After Our Last Meeting, Holding an Old Red Box

My chest felt too tight to breathe. “Where is he?”

Kira glanced toward the street. “He’s here. In the car. Do you want to meet him?”

I was already moving past her, my legs shaking with every step.

There was a blue sedan parked at the curb nearby. Someone was inside the car. As I peered at the vehicle, the door opened, and a man in his 40s climbed out.

My age when I started driving the school bus. He turned to look at me, and it was like seeing my reflection from 20 years ago.

We stared at each other across the yard, neither of us moving. Then he took a step forward, and another, until he stood at the bottom of my porch steps.

“Hi, Dad.”

The word broke something loose in my chest. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d rushed down the steps and pulled him into my arms.

He hugged me back just as fiercely, and suddenly I was bawling my eyes out.

“I’m Michael,” he said when we finally pulled apart, both of us wiping our eyes. “I’m a teacher, actually. High school English.”

“Michael,” I repeated, tasting the name of the son I should have known all along. “You’re a teacher?”

“We live in Portland now,” Kira said from the porch. “Michael and his wife just had their first baby. You’re a grandfather, Howard.” She paused. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”

“It’s not your fault,” I replied. “I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to find you. I should’ve guessed something was wrong. If only…”

Kira shook her head sharply. “We can’t change the past, but we can make the best of the future. Why don’t you come stay with us in Portland? Get to know your family.”

I looked back at my house and thought about the neighborhood kids, my familiar routine, the life I’d built in my solitude.

Then I looked at my son and saw decades of missing memories reflected in his eyes.

“Yes,” I said. “I’d like that very much.”

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