Don't Write Me Off

8. jasper - i'm almost me again, she's almost you

12 October 2019

Dear Corinne,

When I saw you the other day, it felt like my heart stopped. I couldn't get out of my car to greet you because I want to do it right this time, no pressure. I'm sorry if it came out as a rude gesture, I swear I didn't mean it to be. I've been waiting for you to respond but you haven't. That's okay because I'll keep doing this until you hear me out. God, I really miss hearing your voice. How are you? I heard from our mutual friends that you're almost done with your internship. I wish I knew where so I could drop you off at home like I used to, when you needed me then. I hope you're fine during graveyard shifts.

If you wonder how I'm doing, I'm working extra hard to wrap up with college. It's been long enough. I finished with my internship last year. This semester, it's just a few lab work. I also applied for an exchange program but I don't really have high hopes about getting accepted. I want to show you how responsible I'm being, so I've also taken a tutoring job for my friend, Erika. You've met her. She's been helping me a lot with my patience and I am waiting to show you that. I know it used to bug you when I always wanted everything ready or got frustrated often. I want you to know that if you ever need me, you can call me any time.

I'm still here, I never wanted to be away.

I miss you, Cor. I really do.

Love,

Jasper

"I got to admit, we're getting good at this," Erika says, sealing the envelope after reading the final version of the letter in my handwriting. I yawn while nodding my head to agree with her and she notices this before mumbling about how I look like a zombie. The thing is, I woke up at around two in the morning after our Friday study session ended early and I haven't slept again since then. Their house is quieter now that we've finished breakfast. Outside I can hear her little sister and her father trying to get a hang of riding a bike, like they were when I arrived.

So far I've learned a bit about the Gonzales family in my morning at their place. I was oddly sharp enough to look at Erika's Facebook profile first so I can determine how many they are when I was buying Tapsilog for everyone. I feel bad that I don't really know that much about her even when our study sessions have sometimes extended to the point of sharing personal stories.

There's a car inside the gate when I was let inside, a slightly old maroon SUV. Their house is on the traditional side, wooden structured walls downstairs that look varnished, jalousie windows in the living room, an airy feel to the place because it's spacious, with a staircase leading upstairs you'll see immediately on one side. Pictures were everywhere, on the walls and tables usually. Their downstairs had an oddly high ceiling so I can see a bit of the upstairs doors. There are separate rooms for the kitchen and dining room but with entry ways adorned with beaded curtains. Her father, Jorge, is a silent man who only asked about three questions during breakfast. He wasn't warm but he wasn't exactly intimidating, too. Which is surprisingly a better experience than I'd expect. Her mother, Elena, is the opposite, because she's been really welcoming. There's a chance that she thinks I'm one of her daughter's suitors and the reaction just means Erika hasn't been on many dates in a while. I never knew Erika's 7-year-old sister, Kelsey, but I seem to be on her good side because she sat next to me during dessert, asking me random questions about myself, unfazed by a mildly embarrassed Erika on my right.

They all left us alone in the dining room, eating the rest of the leche flan, while Tita Elena did laundry. Every so often she would sneak a glance at us, and I would smile at her a bit without Erika noticing because she was scribbling notes on the letter. Erika hands the envelope over to me and I take it, writing the name outside before slipping it back to my backpack. She turns to face me, puts both hands on top of her thighs before quipping, "Should we go, then?"