Dear You... Love, Me

Dear You... Love, Me

A Story by Ashley
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A letter to the deceased.

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Dear you,

I was late to school today, you know. I waited half an hour in the front room of my house for you to show up. I was mad, fuming in the front seat of my mom’s car. You always drove me to school. You always drove me to school in your dad’s old car. I made fun of it, that car. I mostly just wanted to see your ears redden. Really, though, I liked that car. I liked seeing it pull up in my driveway every morning, with you in the driver seat and that goofy smile on your face.

But I didn’t think about your smile or your car right then. All I could think about what how mad I was at you. I watched the door intently all throughout homeroom, waiting for you to come through it and give me an explanation. It had better be a good one, too, I thought angrily. Someone better have died.

If only I’d known, huh?

You never came during homeroom. When the teacher called your name for attendance, I told her you had ditched. I was mad, remember. Very mad.

I sat at the lunch table alone today. Our lunch table, actually. You know, the one reserved just for the two of us, the one we’ve had all our lives, whether it was in school or at Denny’s. I’m starting to think our obsession with Denny’s was a little odd. Our moms always told us it was weird, but we never listened. Things don’t seem half as weird when you have someone to be weird with.

I sat at our lunch table alone, thinking. Where were you, anyway? You would have called me before school if you couldn’t drive me. You were too much of a goody-goody to ditch. You were always a goody-goody. Teachers loved you, and I sometimes though my parents would take you as their son rather than me as their daughter. I never told you that, but I think you should know now.

We had two classes after lunch together, you remember. I’ve never really liked those classes, but they had never been as terrible as they were today. I wasted the first period drumming my fingers on my desk and humming until the kids around me asked me to stop. Miss Myers gave us a pop quiz in the next period. I would tell you if it was hard or not, but I wouldn’t know. I didn’t take it. Instead I spent that class glancing at the clock and chipping off every little bit of nail polish from my nails. I had painted them last night. They were navy blue, your favorite color. I thought you would compliment them, but you never did.

The bell rang eventually, and I was forced to deposit of the pile of navy blue chips now mounted on my desk. I handed in my blank test, and simply shrugged when Miss Myers raised her eyebrows at me. It’s not like I had an explanation, anyway.

I waited at the front of school for my ride home. Would you be coming to pick me up? I realized that you wouldn’t only after a few minutes. But I stayed there, my arms folded across my chest, waiting. It occurs to me now that I did an awful lot of waiting today. I knew that I was going to get sick out there. It’s January, remember, and it was very cold. You know better than I how stubborn I can be. My teeth chattering, my body shaking, I waited. I waited and waited and waited.

It was starting to get dark by the time my mom pulled up. Before I could even begin walking to her car, she ran across the schoolyard and hugged me. She told me how sorry she was, what an awful mother she was, how she’d thought I was at your house. “You’re always at his house. You have dinner at his house most nights, too. But then I called and his mother answered and told me and…” Her voice broke. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

It was only in the car with the warm air blaring that I got a good look at her. Her face was red and puffy, and she sniffled continuously. I was amazed that she had been this upset about me not getting a ride home. And then I realized that there must be more.
A car wreck. That was what she told me. A car wreck on your way to my house this morning.

I am so sorry. I’m sorry for making fun of your dad’s car, and for calling you a goody-goody, and for getting mad when you looked at other girls. I’m sorry for being jealous of the way everyone loved you and not me. I’m sorry for being mad today when I should have been crying. I cried all night, which is why I’m writing to you now, at three in the morning. I wore myself out crying and went to sleep earlier than I should have.

I mentioned earlier, I think, that I did a lot of waiting today. I’m going to be waiting for a long time. I’m going to be waiting for my ride in that old car, and for my lunch mate during school. I don’t think I can show my face in Denny’s. Each employee knew us by our names, and they’d wonder where you were. After all, you were the Batman to my Robin.

Kids aren’t supposed to die. Kids are never supposed to die. That’s why we’re so reckless, you know. I wouldn’t have dared you to play freeze tag in the middle of the road if I knew you could die. (I’m sorry for that, too, by the way.) I thought we were unstoppable. Invincible. No God could let a child die, could he?

Yet here we are. I’m so sorry, really. I can name a million things I’m sorry for. It’s a terrible feeling, knowing there’s no way I can ever really tell you that I’m sorry. I know you’re in Heaven, because if anyone’s going to Heaven, it’s you. I hope you’re watching me, and reading this over my shoulder.

One question, before I turn in. Wait, make that two. Do they have a Denny’s up there? And do they have a post office?

If so, write soon. Please.

Love, me


© 2010 Ashley


Author's Note

Ashley
I wrote this piece mostly as an exercise for voice. My only real concern is that I overdid it, and that the voice of this particular character is a little overwhelming. It's something I wrote a long time ago and I haven't edited it very thoroughly, so any critique is appreciated.

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Added on March 18, 2010
Last Updated on March 18, 2010
Tags: Dear You... Love Me, letter, dead

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