Letters from a Dead Man
“I’ve told you everything! Why don’t you tell me anything!”
I looked down, watching the grass fall to the side. It’s dark out, and cloudy, so the only lights are coming from streetlights 15 feet away, and lights from various houses that are still awake. Bonding over mindless television.
“I’m too self-conscious to.” I muttered quietly, muffling even my quietest words by holding my face in my hands. “Afraid of what you’ll think of me; afraid of what I’ll think of myself.”
She watched me carefully, before sinking down in front of me so that I was forced to look her in the eyes. They were wide, deep, and full of whispers. I wished desperately that I was as open and trusting with people as her. Her with emotions whining right through her eyes.
“You are a wonderful, thoughtful, amazing person.” she said, resting her hands on my knees so quickly that I jumped. “Nothing you can say about yourself, your thoughts, or other people could make me think any less of you.”
I sighed and covered my eyes, holding back a sheen of tears. I hated her and loved her so much just for being her. Generally at the exact same time.
“Just tell me.” she whispered, backing up so that she was no longer touching me; but yet I still couldn’t find a reason to look away from her. I rubbed my knuckles into my eyes, drying tears, and watched her. My eyes trained to follow her every movement, every facial expression. We would be out here for hours, of course; as long as I decided to say something.
“I can’t…”
She looked away, but I saw the very corner of her mouth twist down in a frown. “It’s fine. I don’t know why I asked you to tell me anyway. Should have expected this.”
She turned on her heel and walked past me, and my stomach dropped and splattered on the ground.
“No!”
I reached and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down to sitting with me.
“Then tell me something.” he stared at me again, and I buckled, I looked down and slouched forward, anything I could do to not look at her.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I finally said after hours, (which were really only mere seconds,) of silence.
“Well that’s a start.” Her mouth slowly twitched up into a smile.
I smiled with her and began talking. Of course, the most of it was lies. Thinly veiled lies, sparkling against the light of the street lamps. Her eyebrows furrowed and she held up a hand.
“You’re lying.”
I closed my eyes, but didn’t dare to move my head.
“You’re lying! I can’t BELIEVE you!”
“I’m sorry…” a tear, a real tear leaked out of my eye and made its way down my skin until I felt it fall. “I’m so sorry…”
“No you’re not. No.” She stood up again and started to walk away.
“Iheardfromhim!” I blurted, and she froze mid-step.
“What did you say…?”
“I heard from him…” I was crying then. Crying so that the world seemed bright through my bleary eyes, not able to tell where the falling halo from one stoplight or one house ended and the next began.
She sat down and folding her arms over my shoulders, pulling me into her. “What did he say?”
“He misses me. Both of us. There were little water smudges on the letter…from, from…” I took a deep breath in as I needed it, and pointed to my tears to show her where the water came from.
She asked me more questions about him, trying to figure out what she hadn’t already known, trying to figure out how much he had affected me, and if I was going to be okay through everything. If she could help.
We talked about more than him, we talked about me. I saw her smile, and I saw her mean it and that made me happy, even as the sleeve of my shirt was too wet for me to wipe any more tears in that same spot.
At ten at night she stood up and reached down for me to take her hand. My knees shook, my elbows were weak, and I felt as if I could barely stand. She hugged me, and then broke it, holding me at arms length and smiling.
“Thank you,” she said, wiping away the last tear with her thumb.
“Thank you,” I whispered back to the someone standing before me.
