Chapter 8:

There were so many versions of the letter that Velma wanted to write; she barely even knew where to begin.

She had already emailed the rest of Mystery, Inc. The first message had gone to Daphne, naturally. Writing it was no different from what she normally sent her friend-- same old chatter and gossip and jokes they had been exchanging for over a decade. Then she composed a letter to Fred-- a basic account of the details of her treatment, she was doing fine, she hoped the mysteries were going okay without her, don't worry, etc. After that she had dropped a note to Scooby that was short, sweet, and to the point: She hoped he was being brave enough without her and that Daphne was remembering his Scooby Snacks.

Now she could no longer put off the inevitable.

It wasn't that she didn't want to email Shaggy; she simply wasn't sure what to say. Sure, she could prepare a conglomerate of what she had told everyone else; it wasn't like they would read each other's mail. But somehow it didn't feel fair to shortchange Shaggy by giving him only the same information she had sent her other friends. Besides, Shaggy was her donor. He deserved something special.

Well, maybe she could start by typing the basics.

Dear Shaggy, she began, this morning they finished the transplant; now I'm basically just stuck in here until the marrow grafts. Who knows how long that will take.

Shaggy, I know I've thanked you for this before, but I think it's really great that you're my donor. It's weird to think that a piece of you--

Ugh. That second paragraph didn't sound right at all. While the medical side of her situation fascinated Velma, she knew that Shaggy would probably not find it so. Besides, there was something impersonal about it she couldn't put her finger on. Velma deleted the paragraph.

She tried again.

It's not so bad here, really. I mean isolation gets kind of lonely, but right now the last thing my immune system needs is germs, so I guess I just have to bear it for now.

Velma deleted this paragraph also. It complained too much. She didn't want complaints to make the gang worry, especially not Shaggy.

This really was hard. Velma stared about the room. She had some idea about what to say, but she couldn't put it into words.

Her friendship with Shaggy was a hard one to define. Hers with Daphne was easy-- they were best friends and had been since they were little kids. Fred also wasn't difficult-- he was the leader of the pack, the friend who looked out for the others and kept everyone together (except of course when he specified that they should split up). And Scooby? How could any friendship get simpler than dog-owner, really? That form of friendship was invented millenia ago by cavemen.

But who was Shaggy?

He certainly wasn't any less of a friend than the others, that was for sure-- he was every bit as important. And he was to some extent closer to Velma, in that they usually split off together during mysteries. He was her partner, she supposed. Independable though he might seem on the surface, deep down there were certain traits she could rely on him for, traits like showing on the outside the fear everyone else felt on the inside. Traits like making Velma laugh. Traits like making everyone laugh when they were afraid. Traits like solving the mystery after everyone else had given up hope.

Velma stared at her reflection in the tiny mirror across the room-- she stared at herself. She thought about the mystery which were it not for Shaggy she might not survive. Without Shaggy, that face in the mirror would not survive.

Her eyes then drifted to the picture just next to the mirror-- the photo of the roses Shaggy had given her. She had wanted to take them into her room so bad, but there was no way to properly sterilize the flowers without killing them. Instead, Shaggy had signed a photograph and framed it, and it was then made entirely sanitary by the hospital staff. Even in a photo (which didn't do them justice) the roses were beautiful. They had something intangible about them, some sort of symbolism...

Velma smiled to herself. She knew what she would write about.

Thank you so much for the roses. Even though I'd like to have the actual flowers with me (I hope you're taking good care of them:D ), it means a lot to me that you gave them to me and that you signed the picture. I'll still keep the photo even after I'm done here. I love the shade of orange. It reminds me of campfires and sunsets and fireworks. Basically, it reminds me of everything and everywhere but here.

Shaggy, you've been very sweet and supportive through all of this. I guess I sort of always teased you before and took you for granted, but you're the one who saved my life. That means so much to me.

Velma re-read her email, then added a closure.

I'll write some more later, I guess. Right now I'm feeling kind of tired...

--Velma

Something seemed missing. It was a good letter, and it would have been perfectly okay to send it as it was. But Velma wanted to say something more, something that summed up exactly what she felt. What, though?

There was a word.

Velma didn't dare actually send the word-- the single word that concluded this feeling she felt.

Velma inserted the word into the last line of her email.

--Love Velma

Then she deleted it again and hit SEND.