Hundred Letters

Patrick had been sitting there for too long. It was always too long. It was always too long to sit in the old leather chair, staring at the blank while wall, hearing voices in a distant room. He looked around his mother’s office, trying to find something to keep him from dying of boredom, but the sleeping wooden coffee table had a single white rose on top - no newspaper, no magazines, no random paper left by someone. Knocking his knuckles on the desk, Patrick noticed the drawers - maybe he could find something interesting in them.

After checking the clock and making sure the voices on the other room hadn’t stopped their mumbling, Patrick pulled the top drawer open softly, as if there was something breakable inside it. It didn’t make a sound.

“Papers… Go figure” Patrick whispered to himself.

He tried all three of them, but al he found were old files and floppy disks. Patrick got up, intending to leave - he’d call his mother later - but his foot hit the desk, knocking down a board that hid a fourth drawer, so thin probably no one had ever noticed it was missing.

Patrick wanted to open it, but his body froze, waiting to hear the voices in the other room. They were still there; Patrick sighed.

He slid the drawer open carefully, so slowly he could hear it whispering, inch-by-inch in the trails. In the empty drawer there was a pile of light brown paper envelopes, tied with a blue ribbon. Some were almost straight, others looked old, as if someone had trashed and recovered them afterwards.

Patrick heard the chairs being pulled back, the door being opened, and the voices approaching. In a hurry, he closed the drawer, put the board back in place, slid the package down his inside pocket and ran through the door, right before hearing his mother shiver.

“It’s cold in here.”

***

Patrick sat on his bed staring at the set of letters on the blue blanket. For a moment he just stared at them, asking himself whom they were addressed to, but an invisible force kept pulling him towards the letters. He picked up the first one.

“Don’t worry about him; he is ok. And you will be also, in a couple of days. Until then I’ll be here, by your side, holding your hand and telling you about what happens outside these walls.”

“Day two, and you’re still asleep.

Do you know those brown shoes that I like to wear on rainy days? I broke one of the heels today. I was walking here, trying not to drop the pile of files someone put on my desk this morning, following my directions of “today is just another day”, when my right foot got caught in the gutter across from the doughnuts place. The girl from the doughnuts place, the pretty red-haired one, the one you like, came outside to help me, under the rain. Unfortunately, the only way to get the shoe out of the gutter was to pull it, breaking the heel.

My world seems to be crumbling into pieces, but your warm hand is still here – and that is enough for now.”

“Day 7, and you lay there – I can touch you, but your soul is far away.

They say you won’t get better. They say I’ll never see you open your beautiful eyes again. But I know you’ll be ok. I know it, because I need you. And you need me. You would never leave me alone, would you?

You’ve always looked so peaceful in your sleep. When you were little I used to sit next to you while you slept, running my hand through your soft hair. Now you’ve cut it too short, and you don’t let me watch you sleep anymore. It’s like letting you go, slowly.

I miss the time when I could hold you in my arms without you pushing me away, and the time when you would bring me coffee in bed, if you wanted me to buy you something.”

“Day 13, you’re still asleep, and I can’t be here for long.

I’ve got some kind of flu, I think. It’s hard to get out of bed, my hair is dry, my skin in breaking, I have rings under my eyes, and my voice sounds cracked. But I got up this morning, like in every other morning, and I came to see you.

I miss your laugh. I miss your smile.”

“Day 27, they put me out of your room soon after I kissed your forehead.

I yelled, I said you needed me. I told them you could wake up right now, and you would be alone.

They say I should go into therapy, that this isn’t healthy. They say you’ll never wake up.

I feel that you’ll be ok. I know that you’ll wake up. And they’ll see I’m not going crazy.”

“Day 41, I’m not allowed in your bedroom anymore; not until I see a “specialist”.

I told them I would do anything to be next to you when you wake up, and I know that is going to happen soon.

It feels like when you decided I wasn’t allowed in your bedroom and locked the door. And then you couldn’t get it to unlock, so we had to pull you out of the window and get that neighbor of ours to unlock your door. You laughed about it when we were done, but you couldn’t imagine how I panicked when I felt like you were closed in a place where I couldn’t go.”

“Day 53, I decided I can’t take it anymore.

I went to the “specialist” they asked me to, and in a couple of days I’ll be allowed in your bedroom again. She said I can even stay during the night, if I want to, when I’m stable.”

“Day 59, she says I have to let go.

You’re not there anymore, are you? At least she says you’re not. She says your body is here, where I can see it and touch it, but your soul is in a better place. Why did you have to go? I need you. And I thought you needed me; I thought you would never leave me behind... I think you’re still here, and they’re just trying to take you away from me.”

“Day 83, I need an answer.

She said I’m keeping you here, prolonging your suffering. Do they want to take you away? I don’t know anymore.

I’ve been by your bed for three months and you are still asleep. Or maybe it’s worse than just sleeping for a long time. Maybe you’re gone but I’ve been keeping your body. What should I do?”

“Day 97, I’ll let you go.

I understand now that I’m keeping you here. They are right. Your body is just like an old car someone left alone on the side of the road. You don’t show any signs of recognition of your surroundings or what happens with your body. Your brain doesn’t work anymore, your heart doesn’t pump enough blood to your body anymore, and your lungs have become weaker during the last months…

I will miss you, and I will cry, but I know this is what is best for you; I’ve got to let go.”

“Day 100, one last goodbye.

You’re not here anymore. I turned off the machine that helped you breath. For a moment I thought you would wake up and smile like you always did. But no; you gave a last long sigh and you weren’t there anymore.

I cried for a long time, until she came with my letters to you. She put them in my lap, patted my back and told me to say goodbye.

She was right, but I couldn’t do it.

I let them prepare your body for your funeral. You looked so handsome, like the little man that walked out the door on your Junior Prom night. They got you a white coffin – your last bed - , with deep blue silk cushions. It fitted you so perfectly. All your friends where there, holding a white rose for you. They were crying but I didn’t. And it didn’t rain, as it always happens in the movies. It was a sunny day, and I smiled when they closed your coffin.

Now it’s time to let you go. With this last letter I release your soul as I released your body. You were my only love.

Mom.”

She walked into his room, late at night – it was a Wednesday, the day they used to have lunch together. She flipped the lights on, and they lighted the letters she had written, spread around the room.

Tears fell of her eyes, but she wasn’t sad. She knew Patrick was finally free; her letters to him freed his soul, as she had freed his body by turning off the machine.

A/N: Apparently I wrote this about a year or so ago and never published it. Inês/Ely had it on her computer for this long and she asked me why I hadn't published it yet - I didn't even remember ever writing it x) Anyways, I hope you like it.

EDIT: Patrick is the woman's only son. She was a single mom and Patric was all she had. Hope that clears things out =)