Cibola, my life for thee.
Today has been endless. I come up with different blog posts in my head on the way home, and then file them away for later use. This is one of them.
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To a friend.
I know you’re upset. It’s evident in the stark white of your knuckles as you clench the door of your locker, fighting for control and really, lost inside. You lose the fight, and your locker door slams shut with a crash. You stand there for a few seconds with your head resting on the cool metal, looking more weary than you should at your age, for what seems like an eternity. You shrug your coat on and shoulder your messenger bag, pulling on a hat in silence as you prepare for the walk home.
I am sorry. I am so, so, very sorry. I never wanted it to end this way – but in truth, deep down in my core, my soul, I know I did as well. You’re in pain, and it crushes me as well. But I cannot deny that when I overheard your conversation I was privately elated. The grimace on your face soon quashed my brief happiness, but I felt it. I was overjoyed, even though you were clearly suffering. That is what I am sorry for.
I am sorry. I’m sorry it had to turn out this way, that events didn’t go as planned. That you had to find out something you’d rather not know. That something you believed in turned out to be false. I’m sorry she hurt you, I’m sorry any of this went wrong.
But I’m also happy. Humans hate to be told ‘I know’ by other people. We yearn to scream ‘No, you don’t!’ when someone insists that they share your pain. But I think I know, in some form. That all-crushing despair. I know. I know. I’m sorry. But I’m not. I hate that I’m so smug, so pleased. But I have to admit, I was crushed before, and now I’m not. Well, I am in some form. But not as much as you.
I hate that. I hate it. I take pleasure in the fact that you were used and tossed aside, and I don’t even care if the reason why is true. All I cared about for that brief second was myself, and I am truly sorry. I find myself crying as I type, because I don’t want you to be in pain. I don’t care if the reason I’m so sad seeing you like this is because of some mild high-school drama, that doesn’t make it any less real.
The pain of seeing another suffer, multiplied by how much I care for you, is terrifying. I was told, after you’d walked down that hall and out of my sight with your head down and eyes on the ground, that I looked like a zombie. I was too wrapped up in the implications of past events – for an while, I didn’t take in the fact that now instead of me, you were hurting.
I am sorry. With all my heart, I apologize. This letter you will never see may not help you, but maybe somehow you’ll sense that someone cares. I’m so, so sorry. I can’t say it enough. I’m trying to lighten the burden on myself by writing this, but I am so, so sorry. I wish I could tell you in person just how sorry I am. But I can’t. And for that, I am sorry.
Caroline.
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To a dear one.
I have no idea how hard you work. I can tease you and razz you all day long, but at the end of it, you’re why I’m here. Without you, I would not have grown to be the person I am today. I know I can come home every day to a warm smile, although sometimes gruff and businesslike. I can get a hug when I want, providing I’m not interrupting you. Even then, you’ll impatiently gesture for me to do it quick and then get out of your sight.
You work tirelessly. Late hours every day of the week, more nocturnal than diurnal. You take time off once in a while to relieve stress, bu I can understand. You and only you have managed to keep a roof over my head and food on our (gypsy) table for my entire life. I’m truly more of your child than anyone’s.
I yearn to make you proud, more than anything in the entire world. I want you to be able to see my name on a book, up in lights, somewhere the whole world can see, and know that YOU put me there. That something in your life has turned out right, that all of your hard work has not been entirely in vain.
I have a way to go, until I can do that. I hope you’ll stick with me until then, because honestly – I need you. More than anything in this world, I need you to keep accepting me for me and I need you to be my rock. You’re my anchor. When I go off on tangents and spiels, you sit and listen patiently until I run myself down and dissolve into tears. You come and sit on the couch next to me and rub my back and talk to me, letting me know I’m not insane and that everyone in the world can feel a little crazy sometimes.
We have a million inside jokes, you and I. Ranging from obscure to hilarious, hawk-based to nicknames, we share a joke about it. I love being able to say something that will cause your (aging?) face to break into a wry little smile, before we both bust out in laughter. I relish being able to talk to you with no holds barred, no masks or walls left. I can be myself, my true me with you, and that is my greatest prize.
You’re getting older. You hate to hear it and I hate to say it. But you are. I’m sorry.
You are an amazing person. You’ve done so much in life that I can’t even begin to write it all down, you’ve been there, you’ve done everything you should, you’re the epitome, the apex of everything in life that I love. You are incredible, astonishing. You are the greatest person I know. My favorite person on earth, the greatest person I know.
I can’t get over how incredible you are. Just writing this makes me realize how much you do for me every day. I never thank you enough. I will never be ABLE to thank you enough. You are…indescribable.
I love you, Daddy.
-P
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To you.
I love you. I say it often enough, in my mind, but never write it down. This letter is short, because I have no words for you that I’ve not already voiced. I love you. I love you. I love you. Truly, truly.
-me.
