A letter for headofapin
Gabriella finds the following handwritten letter slid under her door one night, hand-delivered by Jack the manservant during a time when Justin knew she would be out. The script is even, big and legible but rushed, as if it was all jotted down in a self-imposed hurry.
Gabriella,
I’ve been thinking a lot about the conversation we had the other day. The one about how much you wanted me to try writing you a letter, how you hadn’t been sent one in awhile and you always liked getting them.
Well actually I’ve been thinking about a couple of different conversations we’ve had. The one about letters, and then there are the ones about my past. My family. Specifically, my parents. How I never talk about them, and how I never tell you why.
I guess this is my killing two birds with one stone. Maybe you’ll appreciate my efficiency, if nothing else. I meant it when I told you I couldn’t think of anything I’d ever want to say to someone that I could fill up an entire letter with. So I’ll let myself off the hook by telling you a story instead.
It’s pretty good this way, because I don’t think this is something I could ever talk about with you face to face. I’ve never told anyone. It’s so much easier to write it out and not have to see your expression, or listen to the way the words sound.
This is probably the shittiest excuse for a love letter that’s ever been written. Who I am kidding, it’s not a love letter at all. I really am sorry that I couldn’t come up with the right kind of words to write you one of those instead. But hopefully you’ve realized and come to understand by now, I’m just not that kind of guy.
So here goes. Here’s the story.
When my parents were young newlyweds, things weren’t going so great for them. They had a lot of problems and they fought all the time. I’m not sure what about. Probably the same stuff all just-marrieds fight about, until they get over it.
One night they had a really big blowout. So bad, that my mom figured it was finally over. She packed a bag, left the house and went straight to an old boyfriend’s to spend the night. She fucked him.
And then the very next day, she heard that my dad was out looking for her, wanting to apologize. She went back home and they made up, and I guess things got better.
About nine months later I was born.
And when I was still a baby, my mom made the supreme mistake of telling my dad what had happened.
I didn’t find out about any of this until I was in high school. I overheard them once when they were arguing behind closed doors, and everything all came out.
So that’s why my dad never tried to understand me. Why my mom ignored me. And why when I left the nest and became financially and legally independent I stopped talking to them both, so that I could save them the trouble of having to pretend that they cared.
Here’s the funny part. Seriously, maybe you’ll even laugh when you read this. My mom was already pregnant when she had sex with that other guy. She hadn’t told my dad yet because there’d never seemed like a good time for it. But even though she told him that part later when she confessed everything else, he never believed her.
I look just like my dad. The whole time I was growing up, it’s the first thing anybody ever said, as soon as they saw the both of us. But it didn’t matter. Because to him, my behavior and the things I wanted and cared about, were so foreign to him all he ever saw when he looked at me was a stranger. Even though we had the same face he still couldn’t believe I was really his.
So in case you haven’t guessed by now, this is why I told you that I would never cheat on you. Not because someone I was dating cheated. Because my mother did. Not just on my dad, but on me: because thanks to that one night of hers, I had to grow up with a father who didn’t know me and never thought he would.
I’ve done a lot of low and dirty things in my life. Maybe things I should even be ashamed of. But I would never tell somebody that they were mine and I was theirs, and then go screw around behind their backs on them. Never, not for anything.
You know, for some reason I thought this was going to take a lot more words than it did. That I’d fill up pages and pages getting the whole mess out, and then I would have a nice long letter to send you even if I had nothing else. But I guess that wasn’t really that long a story at all.
Sorry. I tried. Hope you’re not too disappointed.
JH
Gabriella,
I’ve been thinking a lot about the conversation we had the other day. The one about how much you wanted me to try writing you a letter, how you hadn’t been sent one in awhile and you always liked getting them.
Well actually I’ve been thinking about a couple of different conversations we’ve had. The one about letters, and then there are the ones about my past. My family. Specifically, my parents. How I never talk about them, and how I never tell you why.
I guess this is my killing two birds with one stone. Maybe you’ll appreciate my efficiency, if nothing else. I meant it when I told you I couldn’t think of anything I’d ever want to say to someone that I could fill up an entire letter with. So I’ll let myself off the hook by telling you a story instead.
It’s pretty good this way, because I don’t think this is something I could ever talk about with you face to face. I’ve never told anyone. It’s so much easier to write it out and not have to see your expression, or listen to the way the words sound.
This is probably the shittiest excuse for a love letter that’s ever been written. Who I am kidding, it’s not a love letter at all. I really am sorry that I couldn’t come up with the right kind of words to write you one of those instead. But hopefully you’ve realized and come to understand by now, I’m just not that kind of guy.
So here goes. Here’s the story.
When my parents were young newlyweds, things weren’t going so great for them. They had a lot of problems and they fought all the time. I’m not sure what about. Probably the same stuff all just-marrieds fight about, until they get over it.
One night they had a really big blowout. So bad, that my mom figured it was finally over. She packed a bag, left the house and went straight to an old boyfriend’s to spend the night. She fucked him.
And then the very next day, she heard that my dad was out looking for her, wanting to apologize. She went back home and they made up, and I guess things got better.
About nine months later I was born.
And when I was still a baby, my mom made the supreme mistake of telling my dad what had happened.
I didn’t find out about any of this until I was in high school. I overheard them once when they were arguing behind closed doors, and everything all came out.
So that’s why my dad never tried to understand me. Why my mom ignored me. And why when I left the nest and became financially and legally independent I stopped talking to them both, so that I could save them the trouble of having to pretend that they cared.
Here’s the funny part. Seriously, maybe you’ll even laugh when you read this. My mom was already pregnant when she had sex with that other guy. She hadn’t told my dad yet because there’d never seemed like a good time for it. But even though she told him that part later when she confessed everything else, he never believed her.
I look just like my dad. The whole time I was growing up, it’s the first thing anybody ever said, as soon as they saw the both of us. But it didn’t matter. Because to him, my behavior and the things I wanted and cared about, were so foreign to him all he ever saw when he looked at me was a stranger. Even though we had the same face he still couldn’t believe I was really his.
So in case you haven’t guessed by now, this is why I told you that I would never cheat on you. Not because someone I was dating cheated. Because my mother did. Not just on my dad, but on me: because thanks to that one night of hers, I had to grow up with a father who didn’t know me and never thought he would.
I’ve done a lot of low and dirty things in my life. Maybe things I should even be ashamed of. But I would never tell somebody that they were mine and I was theirs, and then go screw around behind their backs on them. Never, not for anything.
You know, for some reason I thought this was going to take a lot more words than it did. That I’d fill up pages and pages getting the whole mess out, and then I would have a nice long letter to send you even if I had nothing else. But I guess that wasn’t really that long a story at all.
Sorry. I tried. Hope you’re not too disappointed.
JH