Letter 8 -- Short Story

 

Author's note-- This one is, in my opinion, my best work yet. It was written earlier this year after I put on a classical music playlist and locked in so hard I only was conscious again when the playlist ended. This story also got a girl to fall in love with me, although that story doesn't have a happy ending that i will not go into yet, but you'll see bits and pieces of it throughout some of my modern work although that's a story for another time.

Letter 8

NOTE TO SELF: This letter appeared the day after your (my? our?) birthday. I have no memory of these events, but the letter touches on things no one should know about. I accidentally almost threw this letter out this morning, but I stopped at the last second. This letter is important, though I don’t know why.

Letter 8 

This letter was given to you, and you don't remember who gave it to you, do you? Every year you are given a letter, every year you forget, and every year I find the letter carelessly thrown in the trash. Once it had tear marks, and it was still forgotten. You may think this letter is crazy, and you most likely are right. You are so happy now; why would I do this to you? You look so healthy, so lively. You're laughing and smiling, I see the sparkle in your eyes, and you have friends! Oh, how your friends love you! 

I still think about how you were before, how you were when no one knew your name, or thought of you a second time. We met  in school… Do you remember? We met in chemistry class, I don't remember the teacher, or anyone else in that class. I was never good with faces, but I remember yours: at the time you were still healthy, you still had hope, and had that sparkle in your eyes. We sat next to each other, do you remember? I remember every day, I would sit down and see you, with your long blond hair and sparkling green eyes, with your soft face and elegant features, with your soft pink lips and their soft smiles, with your long dark eyelashes and how they fluttered boredly. I remember you would sit with your chin in your hand, and how beautiful you looked in such a bored position. I remembered you would be so happy to see me when I walked in every time. Once, I asked you on a date, and you said yes! I was so excited, so overjoyed to hear your yes. I was so blinded by happiness I didn’t notice how defeated the word was when it escaped your lips. How teary you were when I asked. You cried when I got up to leave, I remember the soft choke that escaped you when I said I'd see you that weekend for the date. I remember the soft sobs that followed me out of the room. Do you remember? 

When I saw you Monday, I remember, you looked so hopeless. You weren’t even wearing the school uniform. You were so beautiful in that white spring dress, with your hair braided back, with the little flower band in your hair, with those little cheap earrings I had bought at the Walmart and given you with my question. I asked you why you were sad, and you told me that we spoke every day, and every day I would forget you by morning. You told me that you had waited on my porch, and when I never showed up, you watched me through the window. You watched me stare puzzled at the dress I had laid out to wear. You watched me do my makeup and confusedly remove it. You watched me wonder what was so important that night that I had spent hours getting ready for. You shouted through the window, and tried to tell me what had happened, and ran when I shouted for my dad.

You were crying by the time you finished your recount. You shouted at me to stay away when I tried to comfort you. You yelled at me to never speak to you again. You begged me to not give you false hope. Do you remember? I remember the exact words you said. You said “I can’t believe I let myself love you.” I was devastated at the time, but I understand now. You were mad at yourself for falling in love, not at me. Do you remember?

I remember that I decided right there that I would never forget you again. Do you remember how I had you write it all down? I stapled that paper to my door, and when I saw it the next morning it was like a flashbang in my brain. Oh, how excited you were when I greeted you by name. You tackled me into a hug, you cried into my shoulder, and all I did was smile, and enjoyed the feeling of you in my arms, and committed your scent to memory as much as I could. 

We went on a walk after school, and you brought me to this tree on a hill, and showed me the view of our city from that hill. We sat on the grass and spoke, my hand on yours. You told me how you became like that, you were exploring an abandoned house and something leapt off the wall and buried into your back, and your parents couldn’t remember you when you got home. You were so happy I could remember you. You were so glad I was there, and I promised you I would take you to the movies – and actually remember to follow though.

I only loved you more when I could remember you, and you only loved me more when we could hold real conversations. I adored you, showered you with gifts. Do you remember? Do you remember the movie we saw? Do you remember how you clung to me when it scared you? I remember. I remember how much I loved you, and how much it hurt to watch you be forgotten. That’s what makes the rest of the story worth it. 

Do you remember that night we met under the tree on the hill? Do you remember the things I have shown no one else? Do you remember your first night with someone? I remember how your back looked when you took your dress off. I remember the massive centipede burrowed in the skin along your spine. I remember when I knew what I had to do.

Do you remember our first kiss? Under that tree on the hill at night? Do you remember how your hands curled in my hair? Do you remember when I ripped the centipede out of your back and shoved you away? I remember. I remember how much you cried, and how much it hurt when the centipede burrowed into my back. I remembered when you tried to take it back, and you suddenly forgot who I was. You forgot everything we had shared, but not all the feelings. I watched you cry yourself to sleep that night, and the next night, and the next. 

I still watch you, and you still don’t remember me.  I watched you agree to the date with that man, and you didn’t go. You saw that white spring dress and started crying. You still go to the tree on the hill, and sometimes I sit and look at the view with you, but you never notice me. Do you remember when you slit your wrists? I was the one that took you to the hospital. I sat with you in the room for days. You thought I was a nurse, and I was okay with that. I’ve started to hide your sharp objects when you get sad. It was your birthday a few days ago, and I saw how happy you were. You started crying when you saw me, and you convinced yourself that it was just happiness. 

Every year since I freed you, I write a new letter. I pray you’ll remember it, and I pray you will remember me. You threw away the other seven letters. I can only assume you forgot what they really were and I can only pray this letter doesn’t meet the same fate. One day, I hope you will remember me, and only then will I take the letter from you, when you can give it to me, and show me the same loving eyes I used to see under that tree on the hill. Until then, I'll wait for you.