The dirty blonde haired girl named Sioux sat in bed late one night. There
she scribbled away at her note pad. She folded up the letter and tucked it
into her drawer. She laid on her bed for a moment and reveled in her
thoughts over what she had just written. She got up again and opened the
drawer. There she took the letter out and sat down on her mattress. Her
eyes skimmed over the ink scrawled on the paper.
"Dear You,
I'm not sure if I'll ever mail this letter to you. I'm writing it for my own personal gratification. I need closure. Maybe one day down the road if you and I should ever happen to run into each other I'll give it to you. But who's to say that will ever happen? Here it is, your final month of high school. You'll graduate with honors and head off to college. There is no doubt in my mind that you'll find success.
Here I am in bed writing this. The weather has warmed and the ground has thawed from a blistery winter. I find myself face to face with the elements that we had confronted in this house not too long ago. You remember don't you? Or are you forcing yourself to forget because it was me?
Many nights last summer did I spend in this bed alone. A lumpy mattress. Wishing that the two of us could share it. Stinging cool comfort, wrapped in those sheets. The house smells like summer again. Just like when we had moved in. The windows are open and the April winds loft in. Sure it's premature. But this season is evolving very fast.
I'm afraid I find myself falling into my memories. The memories of the two of us. nearly a year has elapsed since we were here in this place. The new smell the place had. No curtains or furniture. The sun reflecting off the wood floors. Yes, it was dusty and a little somber. But it didn't matter. We were here for each other not for the house.
It was the first time either of us had....and it was confusing and embarrassing. We knew the moment we shed our apparel that we didn't love each other. It was simple attraction. But we helped each other grow as people. We cured our sexual frustration that day on the wood floor wrapped in those sheets. We were scared. And when we fornicated, we didn't feel some random loss of purity. We felt connected as individuals.
There was a comic side to this significant event as well. Something we may look back on and laugh about. I had to hide your pants to keep you from changing your mind. Those fearful questions about my part in contraception. And you couldn't get it on just right. And how sweet it was when we blushed at the sight of each other in the raw. Who could forget the point where I confessed to my mom on a later date. And she made me mop the floor where we were at.
Hands and lips brought more pleasures. But the physical act meant nothing to me. It was the whole exposure and and trust that we presented to the other. It hurt when you left. It really did. I went home that day and sighed with melancholy that I was separated from you again. And those three months without communication were hell. But the thought of you kept me on the straight and narrow. Your contradictions and ideas kept me out of trouble. And kept me away from horrid temptation.
You put up with way more than you should have. I put you through so much hell due to my own in securities, and you forgave me. You are the wonder in everything that's wonderful."
Poetic justice. Ok, maybe that's going too far. But the letter made her feel better. He was leaving soon. And she was starting to believe she loved him. She folded the letter into a paper air plane and walked to her open second story window.For a minute she grimaced over the action she was about to take. Staring at the air plane in her hand. A long sigh of regret and tossed it out the window. It flew with some ease and glided away on a breeze. The girl held back her tears.
"Farewell sweet, Charles." She quoted silently, for it was a favorite line of theirs from Shakespeare. "And a flight of angels sing thee to thy rest."
Her hopes had literally flown out the window.
"Dear You,
I'm not sure if I'll ever mail this letter to you. I'm writing it for my own personal gratification. I need closure. Maybe one day down the road if you and I should ever happen to run into each other I'll give it to you. But who's to say that will ever happen? Here it is, your final month of high school. You'll graduate with honors and head off to college. There is no doubt in my mind that you'll find success.
Here I am in bed writing this. The weather has warmed and the ground has thawed from a blistery winter. I find myself face to face with the elements that we had confronted in this house not too long ago. You remember don't you? Or are you forcing yourself to forget because it was me?
Many nights last summer did I spend in this bed alone. A lumpy mattress. Wishing that the two of us could share it. Stinging cool comfort, wrapped in those sheets. The house smells like summer again. Just like when we had moved in. The windows are open and the April winds loft in. Sure it's premature. But this season is evolving very fast.
I'm afraid I find myself falling into my memories. The memories of the two of us. nearly a year has elapsed since we were here in this place. The new smell the place had. No curtains or furniture. The sun reflecting off the wood floors. Yes, it was dusty and a little somber. But it didn't matter. We were here for each other not for the house.
It was the first time either of us had....and it was confusing and embarrassing. We knew the moment we shed our apparel that we didn't love each other. It was simple attraction. But we helped each other grow as people. We cured our sexual frustration that day on the wood floor wrapped in those sheets. We were scared. And when we fornicated, we didn't feel some random loss of purity. We felt connected as individuals.
There was a comic side to this significant event as well. Something we may look back on and laugh about. I had to hide your pants to keep you from changing your mind. Those fearful questions about my part in contraception. And you couldn't get it on just right. And how sweet it was when we blushed at the sight of each other in the raw. Who could forget the point where I confessed to my mom on a later date. And she made me mop the floor where we were at.
Hands and lips brought more pleasures. But the physical act meant nothing to me. It was the whole exposure and and trust that we presented to the other. It hurt when you left. It really did. I went home that day and sighed with melancholy that I was separated from you again. And those three months without communication were hell. But the thought of you kept me on the straight and narrow. Your contradictions and ideas kept me out of trouble. And kept me away from horrid temptation.
You put up with way more than you should have. I put you through so much hell due to my own in securities, and you forgave me. You are the wonder in everything that's wonderful."
Poetic justice. Ok, maybe that's going too far. But the letter made her feel better. He was leaving soon. And she was starting to believe she loved him. She folded the letter into a paper air plane and walked to her open second story window.For a minute she grimaced over the action she was about to take. Staring at the air plane in her hand. A long sigh of regret and tossed it out the window. It flew with some ease and glided away on a breeze. The girl held back her tears.
"Farewell sweet, Charles." She quoted silently, for it was a favorite line of theirs from Shakespeare. "And a flight of angels sing thee to thy rest."
Her hopes had literally flown out the window.