Letters to Elle

04 | Weighing Me Down

            04 | Weighing Me Down

            With shaky hands, I open the letter.

            Things have changed, Elle. I hope you realize this. We're different people, but at the same time we're the same. I'm not sorry for what happened at that party. I'll never be sorry. It was the best night of my life, and I know that soon you're going to feel the same. But until that time comes, I think we need to discuss a few things. Meet me at the graveyard at 11 tonight. St. Anderson's. Headstone C19. Don't be late. I won't be nearly as forgiving if you are.

            The funny thing about this letter is that Elle’s body is buried at St. Anderson’s Churchyard. Her headstone isn’t C19, because obviously that one is already taken by a current occupant, but still.

            Clearly, this letter wasn’t meant for me; it was meant for Elle. For a minute, it crosses my mind that someone might think that she is still alive and that it was just left on my door by accident, but then it occurs to me that that’s probably the stupidest excuse I’ve ever made up in my life. Ever.

            This letter was meant for Elle, but it was written a while back.

            And now comes the time where I decide what to do with something like this. Would it help the police find out where Elle went? Would it help them try and catch her killer? Would it—

            “No,” I whisper out harshly. My fingers tighten their hold on the piece of paper, and crinkles begin to appear throughout the paper like a spider web. “No, no, no.”

            I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to forget, trying to push the memory into the back of my mind, but I simply can’t. Sometimes, when you remember something painful, the best thing you can do is let the memory run its course. Sometimes it’s just best to remember. After all, when you remember a specific time in your past, you’re just remembering the last time you remembered it. Maybe that’s all I’m doing. Maybe I’m just remembering remembering. Maybe it won’t be as painful this time around.

            “Come on, Wave,” Elle taunts, her hazel eyes staring back at me. Her back is to the cemetery. “It’s just a bunch of dead people. They can’t hurt you. They’re dead!” She then laughs, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

            I roll my eyes. “They may be dead, but that doesn’t mean they can’t hear you!”

            She grabs my wrist, turning around and pulling me with her. “It’s just a bunch of a dead people.”

            I blink back tears, hating to remember. This memory is one of those happy memories. One of the memories that make me miss Elle all over again and wish that she never left.

            “I don’t like this,” I tell her, but she doesn’t listen. We’re already standing beside a headstone. It’s too dark to see whose it is, but that’s okay. Elle’s here, so that’s okay.

            Elle shrugs. “Don’t be a baby.”

            Wind blows around me, flipping my hair up in random directions. Elle had pulled me out of the house so fast that I forgot to grab a jacket. “What are we even doing out here? It’s so cold.”

            I could’ve sworn that I heard a tree branch snap in the background, but I try not to think about it. Nothing’s out there. Nothing’s out there. Nothing’s out there. My own personal chant.