The Dreamer ✓

Letter 18

NO.18; A LETTER TO A PERSON THAT YOU KNOW IS GOING THROUGH HARD TIMES

MARCH 11th, 2014

Dear Laurel,

For the past couple of weeks, you haven't been yourself. I haven't heard any of your sardonic comments or witty remarks in a while and I never thought I'd say this but I actually miss your comebacks. Even though I would never admit this to your face, you're probably the wittiest person I have ever met. No one really stands a chance when it comes to debates. You have a way of turning things on their head and making people see what they've been missing. You have this peculiar ability to both enlighten and oppress. To be honest you were the main reason I joined the debating team. It was in the early November of Year Nine when you took part in the Regional Finals with three other people from our school against some grammar school from Manchester.

I wanted to see what you were like outside our usual banter, if you were as good as everyone said you were and honestly, Laurel, you blew me away. You'd cut through the other team's arguments like a blade and you left me in awe. You showed me the power of words and I remember thinking, sticks and stones may break your bones but words will break your soul. You have this way of crafting words into arrows, into swords, into bullets, into explosives and I thought if knowledge was power, then you had to be the most powerful person in that room.

No one in school really bothered to get into arguments with you, not when you could easily annihilate them within thirty seconds. Well, Zoe Cooper tried in the middle of Year Eleven and she ended up bursting into tears and we didn't see her for three days. I bet Georgia and Adeola ten quid that you will become the prime minister one day, whilst they're convinced you're going to become some kind of criminal mastermind. I remember laughing and saying, what's the difference?

I miss your sharp mind and your sharper tongue. There's no one quite like you, Laurel Zanetti. Which is why it's so alarming when you're not yourself. You've been getting quieter and quieter these last few weeks, not really responding to my friendly jibes or the inane things Adeola says. Yesterday, Narumi Hamasaki walked into the common room with some weird 80s hairstyle (no, it was terrible) you would have had a million comments about it but you stayed silent. You've been looking paler than usual and as each day passes you become more and more unresponsive, like reality is becoming a concept you don't quite understand. God, I'm really worried about you, Laurel.

It was only last week that I found out why. Adeola had gone over to your house to check on you and she said your mother looked like she'd been crying, her eyes were red and her cheeks stained with streaking tears. Your father had come down the stairs and told your mother to go rest, whilst he talked to Adeola. He hadn't looked any better, quite ghostly in fact with dark circles under his eyes.

"Laurel doesn't want to see anyone right now," he'd told her.

"Is she alright?" Georgia asked.

Your father had frowned, "She hasn't told you?"

"Told me what?"

Your father sighed and rubbed his eyes, "Luke's been missing for three weeks now."

M.I.A, they call it. Missing in Action. When a soldier is reported missing during wartime.

It had appeared on the news later that evening.

"On March 3rd, 2014, three British soldiers went missing in Afghanistan whilst patrolling in the Kabul District," the reporter wore a solemn face," they were reported missing in the early hours of March 4th and an extensive operation to locate them is underway. Their next of kin were informed within twenty-four hours and are being updated as the operation continues."

They didn't name any of the soldiers but I knew your brother was one of them and everything suddenly clicked into your place. Your silence, your increasing absence from school. I always liked Luke. He's funny and kind even though he's five years older than us, he never treated us like little kids.

I feel so useless right now because I don't know what to say to you. I've experienced loss, the permanent heart wrenching kind but not like yours. Your loss isn't static, it's ever changing, it's a taunting question you can never answer. You must be living in your own version of hell right now, not knowing if your brother is alive or dead, not sure if –

Oh my God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Laurel. I'll stop.

You don't need me to remind you of what you're going through. People did that a lot when my mum died, they either offered words of condolences that did nothing for me or they tried to tell me how I felt. "Oh, Morgana, you must be so sad to lose your mother like this." It made me so angry because they couldn't understand how I was feeling. They didn't feel the choking grasp of grief around their necks. They didn't know.

Laurel, you're my friend, and you've always helped whenever I felt lost or unknown. This might not seem like much but I want you to know that I'm here for you. Always, whenever, wherever, I don't mind. Even if it's two a.m. and you can't sleep, I'll stay up with you because I know the nights can be the hardest. When you feel so cold, you can't remember what it was like to be warm.

Laurel, I don't know much about war but I do know a lot about loss. I know that the road is dark right now but the sun always rises. The night doesn't last forever, there is a dawn waiting for you over the horizon, it's going to cast away the cold darkness and greet you with sunlight.

Laurel, please remember, I love you.

And everything's going to be okay. I promise. 

Love, Morgana.