Thumbing the edge of the folded paper sticking out of my back pocket, I kept walking, but my thoughts were still consumed by him.
It wasn’t merely the words I had memorized, but also the way he structured his sentences. I imagined him telling me all these things, talking to me in a deep, gravelly voice. I imagined where he’d pause, taking note of the way he didn’t soften anything.
Are you always this honest, or only when you don’t expect it to matter?
I scoffed.
Of course it didn’t matter. That was the fucking point.
It was why I was able to say things in these letters I never said out loud. Why I didn’t have to turn them into jokes to simply outrun the weight of them.
These were nothing but letters.
Ink and envelopes and a man I didn’t know — and never would.
I’d never find out what his voice sounded like, what his hands looked like or whether he tended to wear a stoic or amused expression. Somehow, I could imagine both.
Boomer looked at me questioningly as I paused, my steps halting.
“Sorry, bud. There’s a lot going on up here right now.” I pointed at my head as if he had any idea what I was talking about.
My chest had tightened, but it wasn’t exactly fear, it was more like … awareness? Something quiet, creeping up on me and seizing my insides in its grip.
This is still safe. He can’t ever reach me.
I sucked in a sharp breath when an unbidden and unexpected thought slipped in right after.
… although I kind of want him to.
April 2nd
Hi Sasha,
I’m choosing to interpret “consequences” as theoretical for now. Otherwise I won’t stop thinking about it. Actually, too late, I already am.
Are we talking immediate consequences? Long-term? Does it involve mild discomfort or character-building regret?
Got to tell you, I’m not really known for learning out of my mistakes.
I do own up to them, though. You’re right — forty-seven minutes is a long time. Long enough to realize no one was going to fixit for me.
So I stayed and apologized to the pickle because he was trapped mid-air and everyone else was yelling. Someone had to acknowledge the absurdity of it. It felt rude not to.
I usually stay.
You asked if I’m always this honest. Usually, I’m probably not. I tend to edit myself into something more manageable.
Another disaster, since we’re apparently doing this now: I once told a cop that a friend and I had gotten lost on our way home, which is why we were somewhere we absolutely should not have been at 2 A.M.
I can’t go into too much detail, since I’m not sure if prison security reads these letters (if you do, hi guys, I swear I’m not a criminal!), but we weren’t lost. We were exactly where we meant to be, following her cheating ex-boyfriend. The cop believed me and we scared the crap out of the double-timing shitbag. Zero regrets, I’d absolutely do it again.
I don’t think I’m ignorant. I think I just assume I’ll be able to deal with whatever comes next. So far, that’s been mostly true.
We’ll see if it holds.
— Addy
Chapter 8