Letters to J

August 11, 2017

August 11, 2017

To,

Dearest "J",

So we spent the next two weeks by the shore. Was it a romantic getaway of sorts? Well! Yes it was. Did we do things I might have trouble explaining to my friends? Yes we did! Did we let our guards down in front of each other, because there was nobody else we would rather trust? Yes we did! Did we regret the time we spent with each other? Well, I didn't but I don't know about you. Do you regret me?

They finally let me visit you  this morning. Seeing your mangled face I almost couldn't recognize you. How could I? Your eyes were always so full of life, I could easily drown in them but now they were shut tight, probably never to open again. Your mom wasn't eager to allow me privacy, but I guess for you she would do anything, as moms always do. I really can't face her now. I know she objected to us being together but the shell of a person that she has now become, I just want to hug her and say everything is going to be alright. But is it?

She told me that if I talked to you, you would be able to listen. Apparently that's how you communicate with a comatose patient. But I was never good at talking or expressing myself in a conversation. I was good at writing. So here I am. Talking to you in the only way I know how. I know it's supposed to be helping me to cope with everything but it really isn't. They are wrong. Remembering doesn't make it any easier than forgetting does. It only severs the wound again so that you can bleed the pain away.

We didn't talk much when you were awake either. We were already treading on thin ice. We communicated with gestures and gazes and reveled in comfortable silence. I never told you how I felt and look where that got me. Now I have gathered the courage to say it all but I'm not sure if you will listen or will be able to. Now all I can do is write letters to you. Letters, which I'm sure you'll toss in the trash when you wake up. That is, if you wake up.

That day on the beach we all took upon ourselves different tasks so that we could live on our own for two weeks. We worked in pairs. We were put together by our conniving friends. We were chosen for the task of making a fire pit and arrange logs around it for a small beach campfire. We were supposed to cut the logs in Rebecca's dad's shed near the cabins. The shed was a carpenter's dreams come true. Truth be told, I was only accompanying you. I couldn't cut anything with an ax even if my life depended on it. But you looked like you did.

You went straight to work while I told you obnoxious tales of my past. You were cutting the logs so intently and I was busy talking to you that we almost forgot about the faulty door of the shed. The wind blew and just as my hand tried to grab it; it shut on my face with a bang. We were locked till someone from outside opened it.

Instead of being worried or panicking even for the slightest bit, you were a statue of calmness. Now that I think about it, you were always calm. You masked your emotions well, but I read through them all. But you never read my unwarranted emotions. Were you that oblivious?

I was speechless and frantic. We didn't even have our phones with us. You quietly put down your ax and beckoned me to come forward. You turned the wooden crates in the corner upside down and gently sat me down next to you.

"Well, that means our work is done!" , you said shyly.

"What do you mean? We are locked in and we have no way of getting out! How could you be so calm?" I exasperated.

"It means we get to spend more time without anyone nagging us. Besides, they'll find us soon enough. In the meantime................."