Letters to Angie

The black of night encapsulated the world like a blanket draped over a bird cage. The darkness stretched far and wide, arching over the glass ocean into an eternal horizon, disappearing behind a mound of fluorescent green waves with foamy white peaks.

At the shoreline, where the rippling low tide crept onto land, stealing handfuls of sand back into the sea, a girl in a flowing white sundress stood with her feet soaking in the water. Long, silky black hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her skin was bronze from days under the blazing sun during countless matches of volleyball and endless hours of hiking through the hills. It glistened beneath the pallid moonlight.

Across the way, beside a crackling campfire, sat a boy silently watching her with eyes reflecting the flickering orange glow. His hands reached down, grasping at the sand and pulling up clumps, letting the grains sift between his fingers. He did this over and over, therapeutically, until he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

To his left was the rest of the party. Kids around his age noisily chatting to one another while wielding plastic solo cups with whatever booze they could steal from their parents. They seemed happy and energetic. As if for the first time ever, they were finally free of an invisible weight that had burdened their shoulders. He could join them, pretending to share in their comradery even if it wasn’t true.

Instead, he forced himself to his feet and staggered to the girl in the white dress. His shoes left behind gridded impressions on the beach, softly blown away by the breeze. An image came to mind as he ventured over to her. Him, crawling on hands and knees as the sand rose around his body, swallowing him whole. Pulling him into a world of darkness while she bathed in the light of the moon. It was an absurd thought that elicited a frail smile upon his chapped lips.

He stopped a few feet behind her, careful not to get his shoes drenched by the lapping waves that now rose to her calves. “You’re missing a moment,” he said gently.

She scoffed. “I think you’re the ones really missing a moment here.”

“Maybe.”

Shifting from one foot to the next, his brain fiercely churned to conjure something significant to say. Something clever and worthwhile. Something that would impress her, humor her more than he was actually capable of.

“What are you thinking about?” A paltry attempt at conversation, but enough to keep it alive.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, illuminating the profile of her face for a moment. The other half masked in a bout of darkness. It was quite fitting really. To him, it added a mysterious effect to her image as if she were someone else. A stranger he’d never met.

“Do you actually want to know," she said, "or are you just asking?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

She turned back toward the ocean, her eyes gazing far off into the abyss. “The world is just noise—it’s static. Everything is so loud now that you have to scream just to be heard. I hate it.”

“Is this because of that fight you had with your mom?”

“No.” She sighed. “Not completely.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that, y’know.”

“Why do you always take her side?”

“I don’t!"

“But you do. Every time I tell you about…never mind. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

It dawned on him then things might’ve been better had he stayed by the fire. Had he remained where it was warm and silent.

“I’m not trying to take her side,” he explained. “Really, that’s the last thing I want to do.” He laughed to himself. “It’s just…I guess I want you to consider the alternative before jumping to any conclusions. It’s a lot easier to think someone hates you, that they’re out to get you, than it is to think they might be worried or concerned. And I don’t want you to have this negative notion of your mom because…well, you know.”

Another gust of wind blew by, and she hugged her arms against it. A wave of goosebumps bristled across her skin, the hairs standing on end.

How many times had he warned her about only wearing a sundress? Hadn’t he told her to bring a jacket or a pair of sweatpants or anything that could provide actual warmth once the sun went down?

It’s summer, she’d retorted when he’d brought it up.

Summer’s ending, he reminded her.

A look of sorrow overcame her face then as she nodded in agreement. I wish it wasn’t though.

Why? It seemed ridiculous to him. At least you get to go off to college and experience life for once. At least you get to start the next chapter while I’m stuck here.

Now, as she shivered from the cold, he begrudgingly removed his jacket. Of course she had ignored him because she knew, no matter what, he would be there. If it was raining, he was the one with the umbrella. If the sun was shining, he had sunscreen. If the world were suddenly ending, he would be the one with a plan.

So, why did it feel like he was dependent on her rather than the other way around?

He crossed the narrow gap between them and draped the jacket over her shoulders like a cape. “There’s something on your mind.”

“It’s nothing important,” she said with a shrug.

“If it’s nothing important, then you shouldn’t have a problem telling me about it.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “I hate it. How cruel this world is. How cruel society has become. How badly we have to want something to never get it. How we could spend three lifetimes trying and always failing depending on the luck of the draw. How people punish you for thinking differently, for being sincere or honest. I hate how we’re conditioned to be employees first, and humans second.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he let the silence settle it, but she wasn’t quite finished.

“And I know how people look at me when I say stuff like that,” she admitted. “How they think of me—what they think of me. I think the same thing too. That I’m naïve or stupid. That I’m just a little girl. But fuck me, if isn’t true. This world sucks sometimes.”

Again, another curtain of wind soughed through, kicking up drifts of sand dragging across the bottom of his jeans. He tried to follow the particles as they glided away, but eventually, the lack of light had concealed them from his sight.

“If it counts for anything,” he said carefully, “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“What do you think I am then?”

“Upset, honest…maybe a little scared.”

Her shoulders trembled with laughter. “I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning because there’s no point. I don’t have the money to do things I want to do. I don’t have the reputation or connections to be the person I want to be. All I have is a 3.8 GPA and a scholarship that barely covers my first-year tuition. All I have is time to waste, and people to disappoint.”

He almost asked her if she was taking her medication. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue, ready to be fired like a bullet. But that’s exactly what it had become: a bullet. A verbal projectile to rip her apart whenever he asked because did you take your meds today was like asking why are you acting so weird? And even though that’s not what he meant by asking, it was his way of being cautious and considerate, she would never see it like that.

So, instead, he said nothing. He stood there basking in the silence, letting the wind brush the warmth from his body. It would act as his voice. The silence would be his answer, and she could interpret it any way she pleased because that’s all people needed sometimes. Not words or advice or reassurance. They just want to know someone is listening.

Relationships were tough. People were difficult. Walking the rope of good and bad, positive and negative, was a job for someone much better than him. But holding on was so much easier than letting go because even when there were bad days, or just days that he could barely navigate without being directly bad, there were still fantastically great days that made him feel more alive than anything else. Days when they would go for a walk in the woods or on a day trip to some artsy museum in the city. Days when he imagined himself marrying her years down the road, when they were much older and more mature than now. When they had dealt with their angst and emotional damage from whatever upbringing they’d been dealt.

Finally, after enough time had passed to wash away the awkwardness, she looked back at him, punctuating her rant with a wide grin as if it were all part of some elaborate joke he couldn’t quite understand.

“You’re the one who asked,” she said, still smiling. “Don’t get upset with me.”

“I know, I’m not upset,” he admitted, looking past her to the glimmer of moonlight reflected on the surface of the water. Like a sparkling white pathway leading out into the cosmos. “You have more than that though.”

“What?”

Still, he couldn’t discern her intentions. Joking or serious?

“You have more than time to waste,” he explained. “You have family and friends. And you could attain anything you want to do if you try hard enough. You might not accomplish it all, but at least some of it as long as your reasonable.”

For a moment, her mouth hung agape. It was rather exhilarating to be the one inducing shock and silence than to be on the receiving end.

“Yeah, maybe.” Was all she said.

“But you’re right. There’s really no reason to get out of bed other than to pay your bills so you have a house and food and water and electricity. At the same time, though, there’s more to life than that. Maybe there’s no definite purpose, but I think the point of life is to find your purpose—or purposes. I don’t know, I’m just sort of talking.”

She snickered at him while retreating from the water, her footprints in the sand were wet and soggy like a draining basin. “Always such a verbose philosopher, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, trying hard not to laugh at himself.

Walking across the beach, she went to her bookbag and pulled it open. She reached inside and retrieved a small envelope.

“What’s this?” he asked, turning it over and over only to find it blank save for his name in her loopy handwriting on the backside.

“It was my turn, wasn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so.” He pocketed the envelope. “It’d been so long, I thought you’d forgotten.”

“No, I just wasn’t sure what to say.”

“I guess after doing it for as long as we have it’s hard to come up with anything new to write about.”

“I think I found something this time.”

“What?” he asked.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, taking in the sight of the descending moon as it touched down on the horizon. It shimmered across the sea, giving it an inky black appearance reminiscent of hot tar.

“Y’know," Henry said, "it’s really not that long if you think about it."

“What’s that?”

“Until we see each other again. Little under five months before you’re back for the end of the semester. Less if you count Thanksgiving Break.”

“Yeah, but then I’ll be gone again for the spring.”

“And after that, you’ll be back here for summer.”

“Then the next semester—”

“I’ll be there with you,” he interjected.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I thought you were going to Trenton.”

“I changed my mind.”

“But you’ve been talking about Trenton since middle school. That’s where your entire family has gone. Isn't it a big deal with your dad?”

“It’s nothing really. I was only saying that stuff to make him happy, but that was before…”

“Before?”

“Before I realized he didn’t really care one way or the other,” he said. “So, I changed my mind. I want to go to school with you.”

“You shouldn’t change schools just for me.”

“I’m not. Your university has a better art program.”

“That’s a lie. Trenton has the best in the state.”

“Maybe, but who cares.”

She waded back into the ocean. Despite the cold, she didn’t react in the slightest. She climbed in further and further until the bottom of her dress blossomed out around her like a blooming flower.

“You’ll still write to me," she asked, "even after I’m gone?”

“Of course.”

“You better.” Her head fell back as she gazed at the night sky. “Damn, I was hoping there’d be stars out.”

He glanced upward as well. “Oh yeah, pretty empty tonight. Weird.”

“I wanted it to be perfect.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. Maybe tomorrow night.”

“Maybe.”

He shifted from one leg to the other. Being away from the fire had allowed the cold to permeate his body, and now, his muscles were itching to move again. Anything to generate warmth.

“You’ll miss me, right?” she asked.

How is she not freezing? he thought. “Depends, will you miss me?”

“Always.”

“No different here.”

This earned him a soft chuckle. “I don’t want you to stop having fun when I’m gone. Knowing you, you’ll mope around like a zombie or something.”

He snorted. “You must think pretty highly of yourself.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“So...” she inquired.

“So?”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said monotonously.

“You promise what?”

“I promise I won’t mope around like a zombie while you’re off at college…probably.”

She shot him a hardened glare, drilling into him like piercing daggers.

“Fine. I won’t. Happy?”

“I think so,” she said.

He shook his head in mock exhaustion. “C’mon. We should regroup with the others.”

“Who cares?”

“You will if we get left behind and have to walk back home.”

“We walked back last time. It wasn’t so bad.”

“That’s because I carried you.”

“And you wouldn’t do it again?” she asked.

His aching back screamed no, but his heart said otherwise. He shrugged in response. A hopeless battle, he knew. But a bridge he would cross if they came upon it.

As she strode back to the shore, her hand extended out to him. “You’re going to read my letter, right?”

“The moment I get back home.”

“And you’ll write one in return?”

“I always do.”

But he didn’t read her letter when they returned later. Instead, he was so overcome with exhaustion he laid on his bed and passed out, falling asleep in his sand-covered clothes. He would sleep in late the next day, the letter sitting snug in his back pocket the whole time.