[A Letter]
Liz leaves Ruthven in what she hopes is a good sleep, one without any dreams.
The sky isn't yet light; school won't start for another few hours. She could go home and sleep, but her head feels more clear than it has in days--everything is still wrong and raw and open and dripping thick, infected blood, but life is progressing on whether she wants it to or not.
She walks to the park where she taught Henry how to climb trees what seems like two lifetimes ago. It had rained that day, she remembers. And she remembers huddling together in his car, tangled like warm, sleepy puppies.
She wonders over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears if he's going to kiss her now; that seems like the thing to do. This wasn't what she thought she'd be doing on her first day at this new school, but god, the thought of facing another set of teachers and classes and new faces and names and another locker combination was just exhausting.
And she isn't lying, she really does like him. She likes everything she knows about him, his shy, rambling honesty, the way he's touching her face like she's made of glass. He's sweet, and that is something that seems so rare anymore it's almost anachronistic.
He does kiss her and it's everything a kiss should be about when you're 16, the cinnamon-sweet taste of trust against her lips, hands gentle in her hair.
"Um. It's probably sort of late for this. What's your name? I'm Liz."
"My name's Henry. I like your name, Liz...I...I think I like everything about you."
She stands at the base of the tree; she remembers every damn detail of its trunk, the crooked root she almost broke her ankle on during one landing, just where to grab the thick bottom branch on the left side. She climbs and climbs and climbs, slippery Converse sneakers scraping against the slick bark, fingernails scrabbling for purchase.
Her hands and feet stretch with the blind confidence of a girl who does not care if she falls. And when there are no more branches to reach for she settles against the fat trunk and writes in her head.
Henry,
Maybe I'll remember this when I get down. If I do I guess I'll take that as a sign that I should actually write it down and send it.
I want to get this out of the way now because there's no right way to say it--I am so sorry that I hurt you. I could spend the rest of my life never saying anything but that and it wouldn't be enough. Despite everything believe that you know me, and you know I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true.
I can still say that. Even after everything I can say I haven't lied to you. Not ever. I don't know if that counts for anything right now, but I wanted you to know it.
I wish I could tell you why in a way that would make sense--pleas, please believe that it was never that you weren't enough. You're the only thing that fills up the empty places in me. The truth is that I thought maybe if I let someone hurt me it would be...something. But that someone should have been you. I should have been brave enough to ask.
I don't know if you ever want to see me again. I think in your position I would not want to see me any more. I would probably throw this (as yet unsent) away unopened.
But I'm trusting that you're better than I am, because you always have been.
I love you. I love you so much...so now I'm gonna wait. Just wait and see.
Now I just have to figure out how to get down without jumping.
Elizabeth
l
The sky isn't yet light; school won't start for another few hours. She could go home and sleep, but her head feels more clear than it has in days--everything is still wrong and raw and open and dripping thick, infected blood, but life is progressing on whether she wants it to or not.
She walks to the park where she taught Henry how to climb trees what seems like two lifetimes ago. It had rained that day, she remembers. And she remembers huddling together in his car, tangled like warm, sleepy puppies.
She wonders over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears if he's going to kiss her now; that seems like the thing to do. This wasn't what she thought she'd be doing on her first day at this new school, but god, the thought of facing another set of teachers and classes and new faces and names and another locker combination was just exhausting.
And she isn't lying, she really does like him. She likes everything she knows about him, his shy, rambling honesty, the way he's touching her face like she's made of glass. He's sweet, and that is something that seems so rare anymore it's almost anachronistic.
He does kiss her and it's everything a kiss should be about when you're 16, the cinnamon-sweet taste of trust against her lips, hands gentle in her hair.
"Um. It's probably sort of late for this. What's your name? I'm Liz."
"My name's Henry. I like your name, Liz...I...I think I like everything about you."
She stands at the base of the tree; she remembers every damn detail of its trunk, the crooked root she almost broke her ankle on during one landing, just where to grab the thick bottom branch on the left side. She climbs and climbs and climbs, slippery Converse sneakers scraping against the slick bark, fingernails scrabbling for purchase.
Her hands and feet stretch with the blind confidence of a girl who does not care if she falls. And when there are no more branches to reach for she settles against the fat trunk and writes in her head.
Henry,
Maybe I'll remember this when I get down. If I do I guess I'll take that as a sign that I should actually write it down and send it.
I want to get this out of the way now because there's no right way to say it--I am so sorry that I hurt you. I could spend the rest of my life never saying anything but that and it wouldn't be enough. Despite everything believe that you know me, and you know I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true.
I can still say that. Even after everything I can say I haven't lied to you. Not ever. I don't know if that counts for anything right now, but I wanted you to know it.
I wish I could tell you why in a way that would make sense--pleas, please believe that it was never that you weren't enough. You're the only thing that fills up the empty places in me. The truth is that I thought maybe if I let someone hurt me it would be...something. But that someone should have been you. I should have been brave enough to ask.
I don't know if you ever want to see me again. I think in your position I would not want to see me any more. I would probably throw this (as yet unsent) away unopened.
But I'm trusting that you're better than I am, because you always have been.
I love you. I love you so much...so now I'm gonna wait. Just wait and see.
Now I just have to figure out how to get down without jumping.
Elizabeth
l