That Letter
"Is it ok to break up with someone through a letter?"
I stared at my knees as I asked the question, knowing I sounded afraid.
Gabe turned to look at me. We were sitting side by side on the grass of the park, as had become our tradition. There were still kids playing tag, or practicing their baseball skills or just running around in the late afternoon sun. Finally, Gabe asked, "How do you mean?"
I knew he was thinking I had a boyfriend; I didn't. I certainly would have told him about that… if it had happened. Actually, I would have told almost anyone I knew. I had problems like that—I trusted everyone I saw. Half the school knew about my bad habits and even more knew about my relationships.
"I don't mean like a couple breaking up. You'd know if I had a boyfriend," I sighed, "I mean like friends deciding never to talk to each other again."
Now it was Gabe's turn to sigh.
"Beth…" he began. He was hoping I would jump in and tell him what he was thinking—I nearly always did, but not today. I knew he knew who I was talking about. Alex and I were constantly fighting. It was nothing new, but I always forgave him after I cooled off for a few days. Always. I'd rant and I'd rave, but then I'd be fine, back to normal.
But this time was different. At two months I was still incredibly angry. After four I stopped being angry and started being sad.
At first I was angry because he was talking down to me and everyone around me. Nothing new. Then it was that he KNEW that I was going through a stressful time and he still egged me on. Nothing new. Then he told me to "suck it up." Me. the person that picked up after his sorry ass whenever he decided he liked a girl, or whenever he didn't outshine his brother at whatever.
Then I was sad. Not depressed, not melancholy, not even pensive. Just sad. I knew we were over. But 2 years wasn't bad—we'd had a good run. And it was a hell of a lot better than some people.
"Beth, doesn't this always happen? You two get sick of each other and then you're fine again."
I kept my eyes averted, "The problem is, this time I don't care if he misses me, or whatever. He hates that I can see his flaws. He hates that I always want to talk when he just wants to push things under the goddamn rug." I paused abruptly and turned to face him. "Do you remember the first time we got into a fight?"
He chuckled, "God, how did that even start?"
"You forgot me."
"And you ignored me for weeks."
"You were busy with your boyfriend."
"And you hated him."
"Do you remember how we made up?"
"We talked—"
"—for hours. See? Alex and I never had that. Ever." I looked out over the grass again. The children's numbers were dwindling as the sun dipped lower in the sky.
"What would you say?"
I had thought of that. I knew exactly what I wanted to tell him. I knew Gabe never judged, so I told him everything I wanted to say.
I wanted to tell him that all the times I had been too proud to accept his help that it wasn't because of me. I had no issues with asking for assistance, I had done so many times before, and I had reduced myself to begging, just never to Alex. It wasn't my pride. It was because I was afraid he would snub me—I didn't feel like I could trust him.
I wanted to tell him that there were so many people that held their tongues when he was going on about how brilliant he was. That he didn't know what he was talking about.
I wanted to tell him that I knew what it felt like having to compare to someone else. I had an older sister, and she was just like his brother—brilliant, motivated, focused. She died in a car crash when she was 20. It was September 1st. I was 14. He never remembered the date.
I wanted to tell him that after 3 years of mourning Samantha, my Sammy, I was still not okay. After 3 years, my parents finally weren't willing to pretend that everything was okay for my sake; that they were finally admitting that nothing worked between them. My mom was leaving.
I wanted to tell him everything I should have said after every time we fought. I didn't want to cover it up with a band-aid, letting our wounds fester and ooze where no one could see them.
He needed to know that I didn't want him for a second to feel guilty. There was nothing to feel guilty about, after all; I was to blame just as much as he was.
He needed to know that I was happy for the years we had. Even if sometimes I betrayed his trust and sometimes he made me afraid to tell him anything, that I was happy that we met.
I leaned into Gabe's shoulder, whispering softly: "I can't tell him to his face." The sun had set by now, and the park was cast in the spots of yellow streaming from the lamps. We were the last ones at the park. I finally let the tears roll down my cheeks as he held me.
I only ever told two people about Sammy: Alex and Gabe.
***
I grew up loving Gabe for always being there.
I grew up knowing that people change.
***
Somehow, a year later, it was Alex that was with me when I visited Sammy on September 1st. He had with him a letter. It said:
I always remembered; I just never knew what to say.
I didn't know what to do.
You deserved better.
I am so sorry.
Alex put down the roses he had with him, and I put down my lilies. I knelt at her headstone and I buried my head in my hands. Alex knelt with me and put his arm around my shoulder.
This, I wanted to say, is what I always needed you to do.
***
We didn't say anything to each other that day.
I never did write that letter.
A/n: so, what did you think? Review please
I have 3 questions for you, actually. If you'd answer them in your review, I'd really appreciate it.
1.) Who sent the letter? If you didn't get it, how can I clarify?
2.) What sexual orientation is Gabe?
3.) Is the line about the band-aid (and letting our wounds fester and ooze where no one could see them) cliché? Or does it fit so well that it's acceptable?
Thanks for reading, love you 3
Here's a present for reading:
^^^
(OvO)
( ) hopefully that's formatted right, if you can't tell, it's a penguin.
vv