Dear Matthew,
I’m writing this letter to you because I want to know some stuff. I’m at the desk in the living room right now--remember, the one you gave to us for free a couple years ago? Yeah, that one. Anyway, I’m writing this letter because I can’t just let this go. You always said I was so independent, but the truth is that I have feelings, too. I think maybe you forgot that, so I’m writing this to remind you.
We’ve been best friends since I moved here in fourth grade. In fifth grade we were in all the same classes, and we always went together to the church down the street on Wednesdays and Fridays. One time you saved me from getting robbed; one time I got your laptop back for you when someone stole it. You’ve beaten people up for me. I’ve ridden a bus across the country for you, against the will of my parents. When I started school here for the first time, you sat at my table and bought me lunch for the next four weeks, just because. You helped me get over an anorexia scare and Melissa’s death. Do you remember how much we cried? I didn’t go to school for two weeks, and that was fine with everyone.
Last winter, I stayed with you when you got pneumonia. I was scared to death; I thought you’d die. God, I thought I was worried then. A couple summers ago, when I was in that car accident, you came to see me in the hospital every day after school and never failed to bring my homework with you (jerk). I’m laughing now, and there’s tears in my eyes. I can’t be mad, even when you’re senseless.
You were the first one to call me Lizzy. I was the first one to call you Matty. We’ve been through hell together in the last five years. You’ve helped me through so many rough patches and I like to think I’ve done the same. I’m writing this letter because I wanted to beg for you to change your mind about all this because you’re my best friend and I love you.
We can make it through this, Matty. I know we can; we always have. I wish you could see me crying now, so you could know I was serious. You can fight this, just like you’ve always fought everything and everyone. I want you to think about this before you make your decision: you don’t deserve to be alone.
I know what the doctors say and I don’t care. If you’d let me be there, I would be, every day. We can fight this, if we do it together. You can’t die; God wouldn’t do that to you or me or any of the other people that love you. I want you to know that I’m here if you change your mind. Don’t do this by yourself.
If they can operate, I’ll be by your side. If they can’t, I'll stay with you every second of every hour. But this letter doesn’t matter, because the tumor’s going to go away, I know it will. You’re strong, Matty, you have to be. For yourself and for us.
Please don’t do this. Don’t isolate yourself. You think your friends are better off as far away as possible, but you’re wrong. I want to be with you; I need to be there and see you, whether you get better or worse. Please, Matthew, let us come. You’re going to be okay. We’ll laugh about this soon, when you’re better and you come back to school.
Love you with all my heart,
Elizabeth
P.S. I’m writing this really big so you can see it. Your sister told me your head hurts a lot lately. I wanted to make this as easy as possible for you to read.
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