I Can Pretend

(….all of the words I wish I could say….)

My dearest,

I know you will never see this, however, I have to get this off my chest. I can pretend for a little while, at least for a fleeting moment, that you’ll see this note and your sea blue eyes will look on my words. I can dream, anyway– even if I have not slept for two days, I can day dream that you will read this. I can pretend you’re here, and that this nightmare that has become life never began.

This nightmare used to be a story of friendship and love, but it is now something much darker that I don’t understand. I wish I could wake up from this and know that you’re okay and that you never did this… But I know that my wishes can’t come true. I could wish on a thousand stars, and it will never come true. I could pray to a god, if I believed in God, and he wouldn’t answer me or make it better. There is no way to fix what you have done, and therefore, have left me no choice but to push on through and see this to the end, whether you are sentenced to death or not. Regardless, due to the Creed I live by, I won’t leave your side, even though we’re thousands of miles away. I can’t just leave you man.

When I first came across you, you were afraid of me. Why? Because you thought I would never love you. This was 8th grade. Ah, such an innocent year! I had my first love that year, remember? I hope you do, unless the drugs have eaten your brain that much. You should remember because I threw ant-ridden Mountain Dew at your face when you made fun of me for crying over the boy I loved. You should remember.

I actually regret that. I know now that I am stronger than that, and you saw that in me, and that’s why you said the things you said about it. Because you knew I was better than that than to cry over some boy. I had told you previously about my shitty childhood. About how a boy molested me when I was the ages 4-6. I told you through a letter, I still have that letter. And you listened to me.

…. I find myself continuously weeping over what has happened. I am crying now, as I type this, because the memories are so bittersweet. You loved me so much, and I will never understand why or how you managed to murder a 16 year old boy, when you had so much love in your heart. Drugs changed you, I guess… And it hurts to know this.

I remember how you held me when you told me your mother had passed from the cancer. You told me she felt better now, and that I shouldn’t be sad because she feels better. And I remember how we sat under the stars and spoke of life and what would come. I told you I would be a hair dresser….

Well, I am 20 and have no job. I graduated beauty school, but the light died when you shot that kid in the back of the neck execution style. I don’t feel like doing a fucking thing except crawl into bed and sleep forever. But I can’t even sleep, it’s 5:57am right now and I have not slept. It feels like a lifetime since I have slept. I have not slept since I found out about what you have done. I don’t know if I will ever find solace ever again. You told me you’d be in the Army, and well, you’ve done it. But not in the right way, I suppose… You should’ve mourned for your mom, dear. And I think you understand why I told you you should go and have a good cry or something. You should understand now, as you sit in a cold cell, why I said you need to feel more and shove your feelings away a little less. You need to feel sometimes, even if it is pain, to know that you are alive and human, otherwise you will become empty and do something rash to fill up that void. And it seems to be that’s what you’ve done, friend. You went off and killed a teen in the desert to fill up that void. And yes, I do blame myself.

As someone who was your only ‘family’ left, even though my mom and I are not related to you, we are hurt and I blame myself. Maybe if I would’ve told you I loved you or need you more, you wouldn’t have done this. I know this is completely irrational, since you’re a man and you make your own decisions, but I feel like I should’ve kept you closer and held you just a little tighter and told you I needed you more often. But I didn’t. ‘Should’ve’, ‘could’ve’, and ‘would’ve’ won’t bring back the boy I knew and loved. Hindsight is always 20/20, right? Apologies won’t bring that 16 year old back either. ‘Sorry’ won’t fix anything. ‘Sorry’ will not thaw the ice on that family’s heart. I could apologize until I was blue in the face or until my hands gave out, but it will not change anything. I could give myself lashings for the rest of my life, and it would not change a damn thing, because the boy that I know, his heart has died, and so has that poor boy.

When did your heart die? When did you decide to lose hope? I would love to know, but this isn’t a Hallmark film, where at the end I know the answer and get my closure and you are still the same person you were before, but with a mark on your spirit, this is real life, where people die, girls get raped, murderers get away with crime, and dirty politicians will win over the working class. This is a life where, most likely, I will never know your fate because I am too far away and the jail doesn’t realize that I am the only sense of ‘family’ you have left, even though we’re not blood related, and will refuse to let me talk to you. They couldn’t give a shit less about me probably. You’re so drugged out probably that you forgot to tell them, or afraid to face me. In real life, it is when shit like this happens and the good people don’t win, Evil over comes, and fate screws us all over. That is fate. That is real life. I will probably never see you again. I will never be able to tell you that I love you and that, yes, you do matter to me.

I’m not even mad at you. If anything I just cry over the fact that you used to be so kind…. What happened to you? Was it that terrible influence other people seem to cause, or was it the drugs or really was it all just a face you put on to me, for all of those years? I read over those letters you wrote to me from basic. I have wept a thousand times; the memories are so nice but they hurt. God they hurt so much. Anything I do reminds me of you. I don’t know if I’ll be able to really live after this. It will be a half-life… I know that for sure.

But I don’t want this too be too long, God knows you hate to read. I can still pretend you’re here though and that everything is okay and that  you’ll read this, and that this is a nightmare that I will wake up from. I can pretend… Right?