Generic Title

Laura

I had to write a letter from one of the characters from the short story On the Sidewalk Bleeding for ELA recently, and I had fun writing it so I decided to post it here

if something is underlined it means it's supposed to be crossed out

the ones in bold are the more prominent ones

TW for discussion of gangs, stabbing/knives, death, absent fathers, loved ones not coping well with/people not reacting well to said death

Andy,

Are you doing all right? I hope so. It's been a while since you died left. My mother still tiptoes around me like I'm going to shatter and break into a thousand pieces if someone so much as mentions you around me. Sometimes I feel like she's right.

My father has no opinion, of course. Maybe this is why he left. 'Cause he knew that one day he might have to deal with what your parents are dealing with.

Your father isn't speaking to anyone. He shuts himself up in his room for hours at a time. He's close to being fired. Your mother tries to keep up a brave face when she's around neighbours or friends or coworkers, but one time I went over to see how they were and heard her sobbing in the bathroom, like someone was tearing her heart out or something. They both blame themselves. They think if they had just done something better, maybe you wouldn't have joined that gang and gotten killed. Or maybe if they hadn't let you go to the dance that night. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I never should have let you leave by yourself. But if I had gone with you, maybe it would be both of us lying in the ground. At least then we'd have each other.

I miss you so much, Andy. Did you know that Mrs. Jones accidentally dropped a textbook on Bob's hand the other day? You would have laughed so hard. I tried to laugh for you, but it just wasn't the same.

I don't know which was worse. Finding you in that alley, or seeing you for the last time in that coffin. You would have hated how you looked, ready to be buried. Too fancy, too put-together. You probably would have complained about it pinching or itching or being too tight around your neck and too loose around your ankles. Sunday best arranged carefully to hide where the knife slashed and left, taking your life with it.

Everyone keeps talking about you everywhere I go. My neighbours have brought over too many "best wishes" and baked foods to count, and every time I see them I want to scream that it's not going to help, that you're gone and nothing is ever going to bring you back.

It's so unfair, Andy. I know, I know. Nothing's fair in this life. But you hadn't even graduated high school yet. And we were going to get married and have kids and live a long, happy life together, and now that's never going to happen.

No one at school is helping, either. Everyone either talks about it like I'm not sitting right there, or they laugh about it. He got what he deserved, they say. It's terrible and I hate it but I can't stop them. Just like you couldn't stop that knife.

A few members of your gang have dropped by. I don't know them, but they've heard you talk about me. They say "Don't worry." They say "We're gonna get the Guardians for this."

But here's the thing, Andy. And I don't know how you'd feel about this, but I have to say it. I don't want them to. Every time they say it, I can't help but think What if there's someone like you in that gang, with parents and a girl and hopes and dreams and plans? What if they cause the exact same kind of pain I've been feeling to someone else, when we don't even know if it was the Guardians who hurt you?

But I can't tell them not to. They'd think I was out of my mind, or worse, working for the Guardians. I don't know what to do, Andy. Should I tell them not to? Can I tell them not to? They're strong guys, most of them. And I'm not.

And you might not like this, Andy, but lately I've been wondering if any of this matters, really. So you kill someone from another gang. It's a celebration to you, but to their loved ones it's just a kid to mourn. And to their gang it's just another person to avenge. Does it ever end? It's a cycle, surely you must see that. And what do you get, bragging rights? More territory, that'll just be taken back in a week anyway?

And it doesn't help that hardly anyone sees the boy you were. They see the gang, the jacket, the title, and nothing else. Even the other Royals see you as a member to avenge, not a boy to mourn.

I don't know, Andy. I just don't know. I wish I could just talk to you.

But you're in a better place now. And I'm being selfish when I wish you were back here.

I don't know if the pain and the anger and the sadness will ever go away. But I do know one thing that won't.

Love you forever,

Laura