Dear Maya,
When my eyes took notice of your letter, I almost dropped the whole stack of mail. I then remember running back into my apartment building, my breath catching. I also remember that I kept pressing the button on the elevator, thinking that if I kept pressing it hard enough, it would magically open up sooner. I remember standing there as I felt the irony settle in my stomach. After all, each morning, I leave my apartment actually wishing that the elevator would end up getting stuck with me inside, but it never happens. You can say I have an extremely sucky job. I'm a barista down at some low end, trashy, or whatever you want to call it, coffee bar. I pretty much serve coffee. I also pretty much just stand there all morning, waiting for people to shout their ideal orders at me. Oh, and did I mention that the coffee bar was such a low-end one. Yeah, so the customers are never polite. That's not even all of it though. Then I get like one break at around twelve in the afternoon, only to have to come back around one. Then the next shuffle of people come in; the high school kids. And they're a living nightmare. I mean none of them clean up their area. There's always gum under the tables when they leave, which my boss makes me clean. Then I go home, sleep, the sun rises, and it starts all over again. Do I really want to know the job you have? Cause, I sure as hell know it's not being a barista. Lucas would never let you waste your life doing something so worthless like I have been doing. I bet you're an art teacher, huh? That's what you went to college for; to teach youth how to control their emotions and feelings in a healthier manner. That's probably what you're doing now.
Anyways, back to me reading your letter. Once I finally got inside my apartment, I tossed the rest of the mail on the coffee table, and plopped down on the couch. I remember I ripped it open. I also recall closing my eyes for a slight second, as I tried to gain the courage to look at the lined paper in my hand. I remember the slight hope I felt thinking that maybe Lucas just wrote to me. No, it wasn't for the reason you think. I started hoping that because if he wrote to me just to tell me to stop writing, then that would've meant that you never received my letter. I had started thinking for a slight second that maybe writing to you was a mistake. I was scared of what I would find in your letter. The emotions I knew I would start feeling while reading your letter just terrified me.
Maya, I'm not exactly in a good place right now. I….I there's something that you should know. It's something that I'm sure you'll want to know. My mom was recently diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. She went to the doctors about five months ago, once she started feeling small lumps in her breast tissue. The…the doctor diagnosed her there. Apparently, she had first started feeling the slight pains in her breast tissue about two years ago. She had waved it off as the classic woman aches though. Maya, my…my mom had just waved it off to long, I guess. The…the doctors are saying that if I'm holding any hope at all, it should be incredibly slim hope. Maya, she's…she's not going to survive this. It's…its stage 4 and…and it's just not going to happen. Cory…Cory is a complete mess. He's just an utter mess. He's trying to hold himself together for us all, but I hear him. The nights I stay over at our old house to take care of Topanga and Auggie, I hear him. He cries, Maya. My father cries whenever he thinks no one can hear him. My mom is just not the same anymore, and she never will be again. Her…her beautiful brunette locks are gone now because of the chemo therapy she's been having to endure every week. Oh, and she hates it! The only reason she's even enduring it is because of us. She's not giving up because of us, but I can see how weak she's getting. I can feel it! She's exhausted, Maya. Do you know what radiation does to someone? It destroys you. It slowly eats at you. She's been vomiting at least ten times a day for the past six months. Maya, it's bad. It's horrible. It's worst then horrible. We…we don't know how long we're going to have left with her. Listen, I know that you are furious with me, but I also know how much Topanga means to you. She…she's kind of like a surrogate mother to you. I know it would mean the world to her if you would call her. The house phone is (917)-7623-6783. Give her a call please. It might even bring her a smidge of happiness; a feeling that is slowly started to become unrecognizable to her.
I keep thinking that maybe her getting breast cancer is part of my doing. You obviously know I'm a Christian. Well, if I can even call myself one after what I did to you and Lucas. I asked god for forgiveness though, Maya. I begged him for forgiveness, and although a part of me believes he has forgiven me, another part of me wonders how he even could. Then after Topanga got diagnosed, a part of my brain just kept telling me that this had to have been my karma. To be honest, I still feel like it's kind of true. Could god be trying to teach me a lesson, Maya? I…I want to believe that isn't true, but hearing my mother cry out in misery all the time, is starting to make me believe otherwise. Maya, it has to be. That must be why you're having such a fantastic, loving life. You never did something so back-stabbing to someone else like I did to you. You and Lucas both. I deserve you hating me. I deserve Lucas hating me. I deserve having to watch the strongest, most independent woman I know, my mother, having to get fed by my father most of the time, because she's even too weak to pick up her own silverware. Listen, after I read your letter, I took about an hour just thinking about everything you said to me. You described that morning in such a visual matter, that I could have sworn I was watching it happen live on a TV screen.
Maya, can I tell you something? You won't believe me, but like many things you know had to be said, this has to be said too. You described that tears rolled down your cheeks, as you stood frozen by the door that morning. You described that I clawed Lucas when he tried to move me off of him. You told me that I said he didn't love you. You described that I snarled at you. I'm not saying that I don't believe I did any of those things. I'm sure I did. However, you should know that I just don't remember. I can't remember and…and there's a reason. Drugs.
I can't believe I'm actually going to admit this to you. The truth is I started doing heroin months before Lucas proposed to you. I know your jaw probably just shot open, but it's true ok. I, daddy's little girl, did heroin. It can happen to anyone, Maya. It really can. That's exactly what I learned after I overcame the drug. Yes, I overcame it. I don't do it anymore. Now you may be asking yourself why I started doing it in the first place. I have your answer. You and Lucas.
Sincerely,
Riley Matthews
