The Dreamer ✓

Letter 15

NO.15; A LETTER TO SOMEONE THAT'S NOT IN YOUR COUNTRY

FEBRUARY 19th, 2014

Dear DC,

It's a shame you had to move half way across the world. It's a shame I didn't say goodbye, so this letter will have to do. You left the same summer we finished Year Eleven. You told me on the day of our GCSE French exam that you and your family were leaving to go live in Australia. You have to admit that was bad timing. You could have at least told me after.

We were waiting outside the exam hall, a class of twenty-five pupils bubbling with nerves. For most of us there, it would be our first exam. I sat at the bottom of the staircase that led to the science block. I'd wanted to get some last minute revision in so I'd brought my French textbook and placed it on my lap. It was easy to block out all the chatter, everyone kept asking each other if they'd revised or not and they kept saying just how glad they would be once these exams were over so they could sleep for fifteen hours a day and go out with their mates. I didn't want to socialise since I'd made myself a resolution to at least get a B in French.

Somehow, don't ask me how, your voice, clear and crisp cut through the world I'd encased myself in. I glanced up and you were standing before me with your hands stuffed in your pockets and an eyebrow raised pointedly at me.

"Morgs," you tutted and shook your head, "Cramming before an exam is weak. You either know your shit or you don't."

Morgs. I never liked that nickname. It was something you named an ogre. Of course you knew this and kept at it but now you're gone I find myself missing it. I miss the way it would roll of your tongue and I miss the quick smirk you would give me when I told you to call me Morgana.

"We'll see who the weak one is on results day, DC," I said.

Everybody called you by your surname because you were the third Francis in our year. You wouldn't have cared so much if I hadn't started calling you Dawson's Creek in Year Eight. It annoyed you so much and you always got this adorable, almost confused little crease between your eyebrows so I kept doing it. You didn't think it was funny but I thought it was hilarious. Especially when everybody else started adopting my little nickname and before you know it, your name had been shortened to DC by the beginning of Year Nine. You said you much preferred DC since it not only made you sound like a rapper but that you were happy to rep DC Comics since they were a godsend.

You shrugged, "Might not be here on results day. I might have them mailed to me."

"Why?" I said, only half-listening as I flickered through the textbook, "Are you on holiday?"

"Nah, I'm...I'm moving away actually."

I froze and slowly looked up at you. You carded a hand through your black hair and offered me a slanted grin.

"What?" I said.

"My aunt's got a job offer at some Australian television network as a head writer for a new show," you said, "it's a great opportunity and it's been her dream for so long, plus...the pay isn't too bad."

I remember you telling me you lived with your aunt and uncle ever since your parents had passed away a few years ago. You never told me how you lost them. I didn't want to push you. You didn't carry your grief like I did. You swallowed your grief whole and drowned the taste with something bitter. I think that's why we became such good friends, DC. We recognised a loss within ourselves and built a sturdy if not haply made bridge to cross the chasm and come together.