Daryl tried to do the best he could as the days passed by. They were painfully slow, though, without Beth there to keep him company. During the days after their confrontation with her uncle he'd gotten a dose of the reality of being without her, at least physically. Over those preceding weeks he'd gotten so used to life with her, doing everything with her, that a couple of days without her had been tough to take. And then she'd come to him in the night, but disappeared again so quickly. And all he was left with was the lingering memory of making love to her, how whole and joyful he'd felt, but the emptiness that followed in her absence.
He knew she'd come back to him. At least that's what her letter said. And he had to find some type of comfort in solace in that promise. He made a habit of reading her letter over and over again. He couldn't help it. And it'd gotten to the point now, after being without her for almost two full weeks, that he could almost recite those words by memory. Every time he read that letter, the words in his mind took on Beth's voice. And so, he read it over and over again, just to feel close to her, just to hear her voice.
The first few days after she'd left he'd beat himself up emotionally. His own mother had suffered from severe depression, and while her disease manifested itself much differently than Beth's, he now recognized some of the same things in Beth that he'd seen in his own mother. And he hated himself for a while for feeling like someone if he had recognized them he could have done more to help her. Although he'd finally come to realize that wasn't true. He hated that Beth was gone now, that she was far away from him and that he couldn't talk to her – but he knew that she desperately needed this help. He only hoped that she would actually be able to work through some of her grief about the little girl's drowning, deal with some of her guilt and sorrow over that. He'd sworn so many times, in his ever-increasing prayers to a God that he'd only recently started to talk to with great frequency, that if she came back to him, he'd do everything in his power that make sure she was okay for the rest of her life. Or, he thought, at least until she'd had enough of him.
Daryl's thoughts about Beth consumed him, but he struggled to keep himself in between the lines of normalcy during the work week, knowing that he needed to do well at his job, keep a stable and secure income coming in. He didn't know what Beth would do when she got out of this program – but he wanted to make sure he was there for her, no matter what. He'd be her rock, he told himself. Yes, he'd be everything for her. If she'd only let him. If her family would only let him.
He'd started to write down some things in a little journal that Beth had given him. He'd commented one day about how she always seemed to be writing something late at night and she'd told him about her journaling and how she used it to reflect on things, to document stuff she wanted to remember, and also to write down song lyrics that she was working on. The next day she produced one she'd gotten for him, although he'd never really taken the idea of writing seriously. At least until now. For some reason, Daryl saw the journal as a connection to Beth now and so, he wrote down his feelings for her, his thoughts and his dreams, too. He almost felt like if he wrote them down, he was secretly communicating them with Beth. He knew that wasn't really true, but it made him feel better somehow knowing that he'd written some of those things down, that they weren't just rattling around in his own head.
Daryl didn't check his mail as regularly as most people. He never got much and it often didn't cross his mind. So when he checked his box on a Monday after work, exactly two weeks after the night he and Beth had spent together before she left, he was surprised to see an envelope with his address postmarked from Florida. He ripped into it, not wanting to wait to even get into his apartment – he was desperate to hear from her, or at least hear some news about her. He hoped that envelope contained something that would let him know how his Beth was doing, how she was fairing all those miles away from him.
He wasn't disappointed.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Daryl,
I hope everything is going well for you. I hope that your job is going okay and that things with your work crew are still going alright. The weather is getting so hot, I worry every day thinking about you being outside all day. I wish I was there to cook dinner for you every night when you come home – you work so hard you deserve to have a good meal when you get home. I promise I will when I get back there. That is, if you still want to have anything to do with me. I hope you will.
I miss you so very much. I think about you almost constantly, which hasn't helped the time here pass by any more quickly. I know I shouldn't wish time way, shouldn't wish my life way like that, but I am ready to be back home, back with you. Almost everything I do reminds me of you. The food is surprisingly good here, but I miss you during those times so much. I never realized how much I loved eating with you, talking to you about your day, and sharing things with you. After dinner time here is the worst for me. I long for you then, more than ever. I think about all those nights we spent cuddling on the couch. Sometimes I close my eyes and try to imagine the feeling of your arms wrapped around me and your head nuzzling up against mine. I'm sorry if I took you for granted. I won't anymore.
My therapist says that sometimes I'll be able to write to you and that will always be on Wednesdays. They'll mail the letters first thing on Thursdays – so you should get them by Saturday at the latest I'd think. I hope I will be able to write every week, but I'm not sure – we don't get much say in our therapy and activity schedule, although I guess that is part of this whole thing. It's hard not having control of your own life, but, that's one of the most important things I'm supposed to learn here – how to cope with situations in life when they don't go the way I'd hoped, or when I don't have control. I can write to you sometimes, though, if I complete assignments that I'm supposed to within my letter as well.
It's strange writing to you like this. I've never even written you an email, but now I'm writing you from here, like I'm gone to summer camp or something. They won't let us use a computer, so I have to hand write everything. I don't really mind, though, I kind of like it. I just hope you don't mind, or that you're able to decipher my writing.
It's hard being here and not knowing what you're doing. Most of all, though, it's hard not knowing how you feel about me and about things between us. That's one thing I'm really struggling with the most now. But my therapist said I should write to you about it – that it would help me to express myself to you, even if you can't write back and even if it'll be weeks before I know that you're okay or even if we are okay. I can't stand the thought that we aren't okay – I know I said in the letter I left that I'd try to let you go if that's what you wanted, but I'm not really sure that I could. I hope I won't have to, but I'm so afraid.
Leaving that note for you was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I didn't really get much choice in the decision to come here – but I also knew it was what I needed, so I didn't try to fight my family or my doctor about it. I still know that's true. But leaving you was what worried me most. I couldn't be there to see how you'd respond to my letter, to finding out about my suicide attempt or my depression, or that I'd be gone for six weeks. It plagues my minding thinking about it all, and I just hope that you are okay – and that you are willing to work through all of this for me.
I am so sorry for all of it, Daryl. I'm sorry for putting you into the situation that I did with my uncle, with my family. It was stupid of me. When you kept asking me about going back to your apartment, I just didn't want to let you go. I was selfish and I wanted you to be with me. I didn't want to be without you and I didn't stop to think of the consequences. And I'm sorry that I wasn't completely honest with you about my depression or that I couldn't talk to you about it before I left. I shouldn't have just left that letter like that. I just didn't think I was strong enough to talk to you about it. I was so afraid. I still am.
I love you so much that it hurts. I hope you don't hate me for what happened between us before I left – for asking you to make love to me and then leaving you with just that letter. I hope you don't regret it. Thinking about those moments with you have carried me through the last week, and will continue to help me through this time that I'm here. Daryl, I never imagined I could feel like I do about someone that I've only known for a few weeks. It makes me feel crazy sometimes. But I know that what we have is real. I've been with a few guys before, but I've never felt the way I did with you.
My dad has been a lot more open-minded in listening to me about everything, and listening to me about you. He obviously didn't love what my uncle told him about walking in on us, but my dad isn't like my uncle. He tends to see the best in people, and I know if he gets to know you he will like you. I thinking he's already starting to see a little of what I see – I talked about you the entire way to Georgia, and then on the way here too. I told him you're a good man. He knows you saved me, you saved me from myself.
My uncle is different though. I don't think I'll be going back to his house when I leave here. I can't be around him, or even really be reminded of him now. He said some terrible things to me that night of the 4th, about me and about you. I know he was just angry, but I don't know that I can forgive him. It was all too painful. I don't know where I'll go when I get out. I am coming back to the island though – I am coming back to you. I just don't know where I'll live right now, but my dad said he'd help me figure it out. He is so desperate for me to be okay, and to make sure that I finish school, that I think he's willing to do almost anything to help, even if he has to pay a lot for me to rent an apartment. I think he feels guilty.
They're telling me that my writing time is up, so I have to wrap this up. I promise to write when I can. Please know that I'm thinking about you every minute of the day. And I'm hoping that you're thinking of me too.
I love you.
Beth
The days came and went, and Daryl had gotten a little glimmer of hope about things from Beth's letter. He hated that she questioned their future, that she wasn't sure about how he felt about her, or whether he'd be willing to continue their relationship. He felt ashamed that he hadn't vocalized his feelings to her when he had the chance, but he hoped that his actions would carry her through their time apart. He thought about making love to her a lot, too much, probably, he thought. But he'd never connected with someone on that type of level before and it had solidified to him that his feelings for Beth were like ones he'd never had for anyone else before. He loved her, and he'd do whatever he had to when she came back to show her that every day.
Daryl had decided on Saturday that he needed to get out of his apartment, needed to go out and do something and try to make the best of the day. He knew that's what Beth would want. And thinking about her, he decided to go fishing. He loved fishing and knew it would remind him of her, of the time they'd gone all those weeks before, her first real trip out of the house after the incident at the beach. That was the beginning, Daryl thought back now, of her starting to come out of her frazzled state. After their trip that Sunday, she'd started to come more out of her shell, slowly but surely letting Daryl peel back the layers that she'd surrounded herself with after the accident.
Daryl had gotten up early, planning to head out fairly early before the oppressive heat of the middle of the day. He was in his truck and just pulling out of the driveway when he heard his phone ringing. He was surprised – very few people had his phone number and he hardly received calls from anyone. Now that Beth wasn't around, he wasn't sure who would be calling him. He didn't recognize the number, but did recognize the Georgia area code. He held his breath, fearing the worst – he'd gotten too many calls that contained bad news about his brother, Merle, and he was sure that the voice on the other end would have some similar bad news to deliver.
He was surprised, though, when the man's voice on the other end wasn't at all what he'd expected.
"Hello?" Daryl answered.
"Yes. Is this Daryl?" the man said, a bit of uncertainty registering in his voice.
"Yes. Who's this?" Daryl replied.
"Well… This is Hershel Greene, son. I'm Beth's father." he heard from the other end of the line.
And now Daryl was holding his breath again, but for a different reason entirely.