10 Things I hate About Her (10 Things #1)

The Third Letter

December 31,

Dana's house is small for her four siblings and mom. Her two younger sisters share the right bunk. She and I are on the left. I'm borrowing her older sister's bed, but that one is married so she rarely visits home, there shouldn't be any trouble.

It would be nice if you and I could get married in some alternate life. The thought makes me smile.

Dana's family is real nice. I got her little brother a used piano from Value Village. It's a toy, but he likes it a lot. He'll press the key and 'Twinkle, twinkle, little star,' erupts from the speakers. He's absolutely fascinated by the damn thing. Wherever you are in the house, you can hear its annoying whine. One of his sisters tried to hide it, but he found it. That guy will be a detective, I am sure. Some day soon, we'll all be calling him, 'Detective Matt Williamson.'

Dana is still upset about me spending two nights on the street, but I didn't want to intrude on her. I didn't have anywhere to go. And if I went to Claire's, she would tell you, and you were the last person I wanted to know about this.

I'm staying here because a cop found me wandering the park and asked a few questions. I kept in touch with mom, so contrary to my first fear, they hadn't accused me of running away from home. He didn't know me or my parents. I didn't have to go back. I was able to relax then. He asked who I was and where I was headed with my duffel bags. I ended up telling him that I was going to stay by a friend's house because of trouble at home.

He seemed to understand. At first it was a lie, but after a short car ride, it became the truth. He watched me ring the doorbell to Dana's townhouse and go inside then he drove off. He was a nice guy. He even bought me breakfast. I suspect he knew more than he was letting on but didn't want to press me too hard.

Dana was furious that I hadn't responded to her texts and I had to explain that my phone died many hours before. I didn't want to intrude upon another family. Dana's mom is the sole provider and she already has so many mouths to feed, I didn't want to add to their stress. But they said it was no trouble and took me in with all my baggage, literally and metaphorically. Dana has been a real source of strength for me, I don't think I would have made it through this period without her.

I'm scared, Naomi. I might really lose my home and family at this rate. I don't even have my motorcycle. I left with some food and clothes in two duffel bags. That's all. I had no solid plan. My mom knows where I am, I talked to her yesterday for a long while. Her relationship with dad is still strained, but they're going to speak to their pastor.

I miss you, Nami.

I miss you so much I can't describe it with any fancy metaphor.

When I kissed you that night in October, I was so nervous. I felt my heart popping out my chest. I remember wanting to make you feel good. I remember wanting it to be special. I remember thinking about everything I said and did. I remember my face growing hot under that mask. I remember wondering what you were feeling at that moment. And then I remember thinking, 'Fuck it, I want you.'

It's funny how you can go from having everything to having nothing at all.

I miss you.

Come get me, please. I need you right now.

I guess you won't because you'll never see this letter.

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When I think of you. I think of how much we have changed in this short space of time. You have always been somewhat aggressive. Whenever you wanted something, you went after it, horns blaring. I have always been more reserved, more contemplative. You see....

Loving you is hard.

Loving you is walking across the lake's ice barefoot and butt-naked.

Loving you is scary.

Loving you is lonely.

Loving you is immaculate pleasure.

Oh, they called me for dinner. Let me go eat.

It's chicken and rice and peas. There's some vegetables too. They think it's weird that I write while I eat, but I want to finish this letter and put it away. The past is too painful and I'm worried that I'll sink into depression if I dwell on this any longer.

I miss you.

Love,

Val