January 5, 2006

• Dearest Amy,

  I think the big thing is that no one really knows how to say “Goodbye”
  anymore. I mean, think about it. We kind of numb ourselves to it, and
  when it happens, we step back from the scene and pretend like it’s two
  people in the movies saying goodbye, and we’re sitting comfortable in
  our seats watching the scene play out before us.

  So when someone dies, it’s a shock – we can’t pretend it away because
  the reality of it is too immediate, too personal. It is having
  something and refusing to let it go. It’s really as simple and as
  cliche as that, isn’t it? The selfishness of it, the single-mindedness
  of an amoeba.

  So I’m going to tell you something else now. The reasons why I don’t
  like leaving the house – they are numerous, they are silly, they
  are….. things I’ll try to put into words – and sometimes it’s just a
  case of me lying to myself about what it is exactly that makes me happy
  - and if you’ve read this far, then you deserve a kumquat – but what
  makes me happy is doing what I want to do.

  You can’t really do what you want to do when you’re with people -
  otherwise they think you’re crazy (you remind me of the babe…) 

  Besides – why go out and drink only to watch a movie – all sitting
  there like corpses put on display, staring vacantly at a box of moving
  pictures, trying to follow a plot you can recite in your sleep because
  we dream these things all the time – the memories of every dead soul
  reverberates in the mitochondria of each cell.

  Now that you’re going to San Diego, it’s almost like we’re switching
  places. But when I think about it, it’s like you’re moving backwards,
  because sometimes I wish we could trade places and I could be where
  you’re going now.

  But onwards –

  That’s what my mom said to me once – stop living in the past and always look forward.
  And I know you – I know that’s what you’ve been doing ever since I met
  you – everything you did seemed to concentrate on a vanishing point – a
  metamorphosis I could not comprehend because it meant this: you would
  become an adult, and I will always be lost in Neverland.

  So this was my love letter to you. I hope you enjoyed it and I’m kind
  of glad you never read anything I ever wrote until now. I hope whatever
  you read hereafter can bring you some entertainment when your classes
  get dull, some solace when your eyes burn with frustration.

  Until we meet again,
  Your friend,
  Joan (aka Sarah)

  P.S. Miles came by work today.

  • 1:27 am
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