The Letter

Her eyes always glistened when she talked, and I always said that was what I loved most about her. It almost made it seem like she was reading what she was saying, as if it was on a billboard, and she just repeated what she was reading as she talked. But it didn’t ever make her feel out of touch with you, it was just part of her charm, and she always made you feel that you were the center of her universe when you were around her. I guess that’s one of the reasons why she had to leave. I was never used to feeling wanted, growing up I spent most of my adolescent youth talking to myself because I never felt like anyone was actually listening to what I had to talk about. There were times when I often wondered if what I had to say really was important at all, which of course, it was. I think that it was because of this that I became so observational of people- being silent gave me time to watch them and understand how their bodies often read completely different than what their mouths were saying. I learned to understand that while most people are screaming loudly what they want using their body language, their mouths are usually pulled tight into a grimace, almost as if they are trying to literally hold the words in their mouth, squeezing it tight so they don’t let any slip out. She was entirely different from them though. That was why everyone liked her, even though she didn’t like any certain person more than any other person. She seemed to just kind of love everyone equally, which made people fight for her attention. Everyone wants to feel they might be loved more than others. I have found that it gives them a sense of false security, but that there really is no pattern to the type of people who crave this love. I have seen loud men who craved her attention, and I have seen quiet souls cry for her attention through the closeness of their bodies to hers. And this made me realize that everyone craves love and attention, there is no specific pattern of people who crave it more or less. And the reason they all flocked to her, all these different types of people, was because she didn’t ever seem to crave it at all. It seemed that she truly loved herself as much as she loved everyone around her, and the sense of security people want from others, she understood came from her. It was almost as if the air around her that she emitted, (everyone has air around them that they emit that is specifically their own,) was just made of a sort of knowing. I know that sounds strange, and it was strange to see when you’re used to seeing air around people being that of sadness, resolution, energetic, loudness, bitterness, and everything in between. So when she picked me, I always wondered what she thought of the air that surrounds me. Or if I even emitted any. And sometimes I wonder if that’s why she chose me. It wasn’t because I didn’t crave her love or attention like other people did, it was because she sensed something in me that she had never sensed before in anyone else, as I did with her. I think first and foremost, she truly just wanted to understand me. And everything that happened between us after, we never forgot about that beginning. Our curiosity of each other, and how we had never met another like it before. Somewhere in the space of our time together, people forget that in the beginnings we just want to understand each other. And so it goes. I had seen it happen a million times through my people-watching, sometimes it happened in an instant over conversation in the middle of a coffee shop, and sometimes it happened gradually, over the span of decades spent between two people who began to forget why they loved each other in the first place. And it’s always interesting because I’ve noticed that when it happens, only few people try to remember the beginning, when beginnings and endings are vastly similar. You would think that people would try to understand the beginning as much as they reflect on the middle or end, but they don’t. They seem to just want to remember that they no longer like each other. But we weren’t always like that. When we forgot our beginnings, one of us would remind the other in a particular way that was relevant to our individual style. For example, I would always make the coffee in the morning, (though somehow she was the one that always seemed to smell like freshly ground coffee beans,) and sometimes I would switch it to hot chocolate or Prosecco some mornings because she liked change and surprise. And she would sometimes move my shoes around after I had placed them in the particular order and fashion I liked because she knew I made patterns to find stability. We were virtually polar opposite in every way- light and dark, morning and night, change vs pattern. The only thing we could ever really agree upon was that mirrors should always be hung, fruit bowls should always be full, orange juice is the reigning supreme breakfast drink, and that we never wanted kids. I like to think that might have changed had we been given more time, but I don’t think it would have. We enjoyed our individual solitude as much as we enjoyed being around each other, which made it easy for us to find compatibility and lessen any jealousy we had both endured with past lovers. And I like to think we would have been happy till the end. And even now I still always remember our beginnings. I remember her vividly, walking along the campus talking with other students while I sat with my book, reading and people observing. Sometimes I wonder if she saw me first and acted like she didn’t as I’ve seen many girls do that and feign it later. I think it has to do with always having to be aware given their sex. They never seem to be allowed to show that they are more attentive than they seem. In any case, we noticed each other, and every day would meet on the lawn to read, or discuss or just sit in the sun. She used to poke fun at my everyday apparel because it never changed, and would often have me remove my sweater vest and roll up my slacks and just sit there in my button up. I would allow it because I also would force her to compromise by insisting that we always sit in the same spot on the lawn, though she sometimes wanted to sit under a tree, or on the bridge. It seems silly, but I do now wish I had been more accommodating. And I wonder if she would have too. She had an affinity with my glasses and would always push them on top of my head tangling them in my hair. I think she loved my hair as much as she loved hers. Mine was as brown as hers was light, and mine was as curly as hers was straight. During our beginnings, we never ran out of topics to discuss, ranging from politics, to written works to the nearest and newest art galleries (and which were truly the best to visit,) to which professor seemed to be losing his or her touch. I remember the beginnings because they never left. All throughout the beginning, middle and end, we stayed the same. We never ran out of topics to discuss, and though they gained more range, they became less philosophical over time. Instead of politics and art, discussions ranged from our favorite restaurants to why take-out was more ethical. I am noting our beginning and why it is important to reflect that it stayed the same throughout, because I think it is pertinent in understanding the end. Just as I retained patterns, our fights were always within a specific pattern, and would always emerge due to a specific topic. She always felt I didn’t quite open up as much as I should, and I felt that she didn’t just trust that our relationship was simple. Because to me, life is simple. The cause and effect for everything is very evident in all things, and though the reasoning behind certain actions can be full of depth, there ​is​ a point behind each action. To her, life was full of hidden mysteries that would never be explained. Just as I understood that the moon affected the gravitational pull of the ocean, she understood that the motive behind why we felt closer to each other when we stared at it together, was because it was just an unresolved mystery. And it’s really only now that I understand that I needed her mysteries as much as she needed my resolve. The world can’t run on ideas built on fantasy, but it also can’t run on factual logistics. They need one another to understand that they are not so without the other. I think this is something she always knew, and that’s why she stayed so long. But she also might have stuck around too long. Sometimes I’m grateful that she left when she did, I don’t think she would have lived long under my current circumstances. She was as strong as she was loving, and I wonder if she would have had to give one of those attributes up over time. I still wasn’t ready for her to go though, and I truly don’t think I ever would have been. Her leaving may have been abrupt, but it was noble. I’ll always remember the day as clearly as when it happened. They had been out patrolling the streets all day, and when I had gotten home from work, she wasn’t in the back room as she usually was with her typewriter. I knew that it was unsafe for her to go out, and that was why she stayed near the back of the house with little windows and a safe route to the attic that had a hiding place they couldn’t see. We had built it together when they first appeared and everyone was unsure of how invasive they would be. I remember I tried not to panic when I didn’t find her back there, and calmly checked the attic space for her. When she wasn’t there I walked a couple doors down to where she often went to meet with our neighbor Sylvie. And I remember it was then I started to panic when Sylvie mentioned that she had been over earlier that morning. I remember that Sylvie told me that something had happened, and that I had better hurry back home so that she could tell me. And I remember walking back to our little house in confusion. And I remember walking up the steps and opening our front door that always creaked like a barn cat. I remember walking through the kitchen and to the room past it that we always called the “missing room “because we never knew what to do with it and so had converted it into a library to get lost in the works of Keats, Wordsworth and Jennings. And I remember how two minutes can feel like an hour, or a year. And I remember how much of your life you can remember in just two minutes. And I remember the look in her eyes as he had one hand on the back of her neck and one holding the gun to her head. I remember she looked calm. I remember she looked at me the same way she did when we sat on the lawn on the campus together. I remember she looked peaceful. And I remember she reached out for me, not for comfort or frantic hope, but in the way she had reached for me on our wedding night. She reached for me in the way she always had, with an air of knowing. It was like she had known her whole life that this moment was going to happen, and had rehearsed it over and over so that when it did happen, it wouldn’t be traumatic. And I remember I didn’t realize I was crying till I couldn’t see two feet in front of me and the vision of her started to blur. I remember that I wished crying hadn’t been invented so that I could have had one more moment seeing her alive, even if she had the look of someone who knew her fate but also understood that it was to happen. I remember the blood and the way he dropped her. I remember realizing the sounds I was hearing were my own screams. I remember the black eye and broken rib he gave me before he left. And I remember he took most of our rationed coffee grounds. And I don’t remember burying her. After that day, I took all of her writings and safely stored them away to read at night. Sometimes I wondered if I ever really knew her when I read them, and sometimes I felt like I only understood her through her writings. Her last writing she had written I found though, was addressed to me. I had found it in her book that she kept specifically for her poems because they were so rare, and she had written it the day she left. I only read it once in my life, and it helped me to understand her more than I ever had before. I have decided to write it down here in case someone comes across this decades from now, when the world has decided to let peace survive and that it’s easier to get along than send young men to destroy everything along their path on their way to death because of hatred for a certain people. I also want to write it because writing down the words she has written helps me to remember our beginnings.

“Do you remember that day when I told you that I knew I was going to meet you before I did? You acted like you didn’t believe me, but I know deep down you knew exactly what I meant, because I know you felt the same exact way. I want you to know that I chose you not only because I somehow knew you the moment I saw you, but also because you reminded me of something I have always felt within me, but have never been able to touch. And I think you would say the same thing about me if you could. I want you to know that you have always made me happy. Just as often as you made me sad, and just as often as you made me raging mad, you have always been exactly what I wanted. And I never want you to second guess that, or wonder if I would have been happier living some other life than the one we made. I was only ever meant to live with you. I was only ever meant to love you. And I know a child was never something we had ever planned, or even wanted, but I find myself hoping that he gets your laugh. And sometimes I picture him getting angry at his math homework how I always did, and needing your help because we both know I wouldn’t be any. And sometimes I swear I know what it would feel like when he hugs me. And I’m telling you this because as soon as I found out, I knew that I would have to write this letter in case anything does happen. And I want you to know that if I have to go, that I am content. I am more than content with how it has to end, and I accept this fate. You have always known, as I have always said, that I would rather die than live in hiding of who I am. And if I have to go, it's better that he go too, because this is no world for someone so pure and innocent as he would have been. And I know that you won’t accept that I have to go, and you will wonder if you did something wrong, and will critique yourself more than you have ever critiqued any piece of writing or literature, but this isn’t something you can control. There is no basis or explanation behind pure hatred for another race that’s strong enough to almost eliminate it. And I know that it tortures you and your beautiful view of equality and justice and fair order of the world, so I won’t torture you and tell you I would have loved you forever, because you know I will. Just as I know you will always love me. And if I do have to go, I will always pray that my leaving doesn’t bring an ending to the way you view the life that you love. You may not know it, but you have a beautiful passion for life. You’ve always struggled with your logical nature, but you love life just as much as I do. You might not believe it, but it’s true. And I want you to know that I’m not scared. My life with you was everything I ever wanted, and leaving now or later will never change that. You brought me joy and happiness, and anger and peace. You brought me every emotion I have ever wanted to feel, and in doing so you brought me life. And I hope that I have done the same for you. You are everything to me, and we will find each other again, as we always have. And I want you to know that if I have to leave, that I am never really leaving you. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that love can transcend, even ours. And I know we’ll find each other again. Maybe in a dream, or maybe passing each other in the street, but I hope it’s in the arms of each other, because that’s my favorite place.”