Letters Never Sent

July 18, 2011
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Dear Mom,
Remember the time when we found Fifi in the middle of the road, flattened to the ground like a cartoon anvil had fallen on her? And I told you I saw a big SUV run over her and then speed away? Yeah…that was me. Sorry.

You are a conniving sl**. I can’t believe I spent three whole years pining over you. I should’ve known better. When you asked me to the dance, I thought that it was my shot; that you had finally realized that we could be together. I spent hours picking out just the right clothes, getting flowers, practicing what I would say to you. I was so nervous that night, but I thought that everything was finally coming together. I picked you up at your house, worried what you would think about my beat up old station wagon. You opened the door and you looked…I don’t even want to think about it. On the drive, you were distant, but I thought you were just nervous like me. We got there and you were all over me, your body always touching some part of mine. I didn’t realize until now, but you never looked at me; your eyes were always somewhere else, on Brent. When I came back from getting us drinks and saw you in the corner with him, for a few seconds, it didn’t compute. I didn’t understand what was happening, how could you be kissing him? All the pitying looks I got from everyone there, it was terrible. You used me Avery. You reached your hand into my chest, pulled out my heart and tour it up into little pieces. Whatever, I have better things to do than sit around and remember you. I hope you’re happy that you got what you wanted, b****.

Uncle Clint,
Every time you worm your way into my thoughts, my whole body turns cold. I can still feel the way your hands slid over my thighs, my hips, my face. It makes me shiver, and not in a good way. You whispered in my ear not to tell, you said you’d hurt Aiden if I did. I had to protect him; it was my job as his older sister. So I never told. Do you have any idea how much pain you have caused me? How many scars that are still there? I don’t know who I am anymore, who I still can be. And when my dad walked in, found you on top of me, I thought it would all be over. But even though you’re locked up, you’re still here; you’re everywhere. Every time I close my eyes your image is imprinted behind my eyelids. I wish that I could say that I was a survivor but it’s not over for me yet. It never will be.

I like you. Do you like me? Circle Yes or No.

Dear Jamie,
Everyday in math class we sit next to each other; not placed by last name, but by choice. We talk about stupid stuff; we joke about our insane teacher and all of the kids we used to know in middle school. Sometimes our legs will touch and I like to think for a second that you might have done it on purpose, but really, I know you didn’t. I let you copy my homework; I give you the answers to tests. It’s the way you look at me, with those deep brown eyes peeking through your blonde bangs. I can’t say no to you, and you know it too. And outside of class, god, you won’t even look at me. I used to try to catch your eye or give you a small wave to get you to acknowledge our secret connection, but it never worked. So I just resigned myself to being your math class buddy. But it hurts too much. So please Jamie, all I am asking is for you to stop, to leave me alone, find someone else to sit next to in class. It’s not fair to let me keep hoping.

To Whom It May Concern:
I really can’t take it anymore. All this pain, this sadness that seems so pointless. I see everyone walk around me and they are so carefree, so oblivious. I try, but I can’t seem to be like them. I want to be able to think about college, to imagine my future. What would I be? I can’t picture it. There has to be something better than this monotonous gloom. I’ve seen the doctors that they’ve forced on me; taken the white and green pills then the orange ones then the blue ones. They stick in my throat every time. They make me feel numb, void of feeling. I know that there has to be something better than this. I have to find it. Henry Ward Beecher’s last words were “Now comes the Mystery.” I am ready for that mystery.
-Cole Wilson

This is really hard to say because I already know what you are going to do once I tell you. I remember what you said about Sam, how if he was your son, he would no longer be welcome in this house. You are so adamant in your views. “One boy, one girl, that’s how it’s supposed to be,” you always said. I nodded along like I agreed all the while seething on the inside. I remember sitting next to you on the couch, football game on and beer in your hand. I wanted to be anywhere but in that seat next to you, but for some reason, I needed you to respect me, to be proud of me. I think I still do. But I can’t pretend to be something that I’m not anymore. I know I am going to disappoint you, I probably already have, but this is who I am. Ok, so, I’m just going to tell you. Dad, I’m gay. I’ll start packing my bags now.

To Squiggle:
That’s what I’ve been calling you. Mom says I shouldn’t give you a name or I’ll get too attached. You are so small right now, just a tiny blob, hard to believe that you are anything at all. Are you anything? Are you even there? I tell myself that you’re not so that I’ll feel better, just a jumbled bunch of cells right? I know maybe, someday, you could be more, but Mom told me not to think about that either. So, goodbye Squiggle, please forgive me.

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Grace4297 said...
Jul. 25, 2011 at 7:47 pm
This is really interesting, i love the difference of all the letters and how they seemed so real. Great job! 
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