| A letter whose time has come. |
[Jun. 27th, 2007|02:16 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  exanimate | ] |
Dearest Sarah,
I'm going to expand my last note a bit and say what I really wanted to say to you. Read it or not, I don't really care. I just need to get it off my chest so I can finally try to forget about you. Take heart, because this will be the last communication you will ever receive from me.
I found you recently on MySpace, no doubt due to what you would now consider a lapse in judgement in allowing your profile to be viewed by the public. I was surprised at how you had aged apparently in a similar fashion to how I have. I marveled at how much you look like my mother and how you had pursued nursing as she is now. I deliberated at length to determine the message I could send to you that would contain the most meaning without being overtly creepy or lengthy to the point of not being read in its entirety. The message I settled on was the most condensed version of the whirlwind of emotions contained by this weak little organic frame I've been given. "I'm sorry."
Nearly immediately, and no doubt for fear of being bothered further, you set your profile to viewable only by friends. I expected a reaction like that. I have to admit I hoped for better, but that's what I expected. I wish you had even the slightest idea what a slap in the face that is. You would hold a grudge so long that even after all these years you can't even find the decency to even speak to me. Not even enough to say "Leave me alone."
Let's go back to what I imagine started it all; the letter. You moved. Nothing could change that. It had to happen. I get it. Even before you moved, I could sense you were distancing yourself from me to lessen the pain of separation. I also wasn't treating you with the respect and dignity you deserved. Either way, the result was the same. I got a wonderful letter from you outlining your first experiences in your new home. What a change it must have been! Seeing a space shuttle launch firsthand, living in a new home, and making new friends all made the list. In response, I sent you what is most likely to this day the most horrible piece of writing I've ever brought to fruition. I mentioned dog crap, cat puke, maggots, fleas, and more than likely some other unsavory items in a feeble attempt to outline how I was feeling without you and how my year in school was going.
Let me bring you up to speed on that year's events. I had just lost my best friend, who was even more important to me than Josh and the first person I felt any sort of romantic love for. I was being picked on mercilessly by my peers. My grades and self-esteem were suffering, and to top it all off I had an abusive teacher. The single person who should have protected me from my torment ended up joining in on it. I was yelled at nearly every day. I had my things taken from me and never returned. I had a chair thrown at me, all by Mrs. Herczeg. When I told my parents about it, they didn't believe me. They didn't buy it until they got a call from some of the other parents asking why their kids had come home crying about the way I'd been treated at school. Obviously I was immediately yanked from the class, but the damage had been done. Am I justifying the content and tone of my letter? Not on your life. What I need you to understand about that letter is that in its own sick way it was a cry for help. You were the only other person in my entire cosmos that had shown an inkling of kindness and trust to me, and I hoped that in some way you could help me. How foolish I was, and how foolish I continued to be.
As soon as the letter was out (contrary to my parents' sage advice), I realized what a mistake I had made in sending such a piece of filth to you. I used my imagination to envision you proudly reading the letter aloud to your folks and falling abruptly silent as you got to the juicy part, face reddening with embarrassment. Looking back, I think I can safely admit that my letter was the single biggest mistake I've ever made in my entire life. The only way I could fathom to try and right the wrong was to call and try to apologize, an action you may or may not be aware of. There were several tearful messages left on your parents' answering machine over the years, each becoming more and more insistent and desperate. Eventually I gave up on ever speaking with you again. You only came to mind once in a great while, mostly in relation to another failed relationship. With the mind of an adult, I can imagine how annoying and perhaps even frightening those messages must have been, and I don't even know how to go about apologizing to your family for the distress I put them through for my own selfish needs.
Remember all the good times we shared? The field trips? Stolen smooches on the bus? That dinner at Pizza Hut where I showed off my "meditation" skills? The way you thought people had "butts" in the front too? The time I came over and beat Shadowgate and played around on the computer with you? The way we switched glasses? The way you stuck up for me? My 10th birthday party at the bowling alley? I'm collecting them all, the good and the bad, and putting them in a proverbial gift box. With them I put wishes for your well-being and the best that life can bring to you. I include the promise of never having to think of or see me again. Keep them or throw them away, but I'd like for you to have them because I don't want them anymore.
Sincerely and Finally,
Adam Garrett (Funk) Van Kirk |
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