Illustration by Bob AulI've been with you for five years, off and on. We split up, I got married, but you couldn't live without me, so I came back. I should have seen the signs: you asked me to be with you—not live with you, see, just live near you. I used to drive four hours through traffic to see you; you played computer games. I worked full time and carried 20 units at college; you cheated on me with some stupid chick. (Yeah, I know about the girl—know her name, her number and where she lives.) I miscarried two of your babies; you guilt-tripped me.
It took me a while, but I finally woke up. You know that "vacation" I went on? I'm gone, and I'm not coming back. I've been accepted to med school. Don't bother looking me up. I'm unlisted.
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/oOC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Suite 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us at Letters@ocweekly.com.