Dear A,
When I first met you, I told you a story about myself that was a lie. I lied to you because I thought it would make you like me better than C. I think that it did, but still I feel guilty for wanting you to be my friend and not hers. I thought that if you just pitied me more than you pitied her then we would be better friends. That was 1998, in the dorms at UPS. I e-mailed you a story about my not life, about the not life that was harder than it ever actually was. No doubt things had happened to me, but what I wrote to you was something that never happened and I secretly wished had because I wanted the anger I would be allowed to have if it had.

Instead I was just a melancholy eighteen year old with nothing to show for it but a black wardrobe to hide my rotund body and the cuts on my arms. Those were real, those were not lies, but all the rest was.

What I’m trying to say is that what I did to you two years ago is inexcusable. I know A that it seems like these two things are unrelated, but in truth they are part of the same folly. They are part of the same story, the story where I say something or do something to get attention even if it is the wrong kind

When I went out to the car with him all I meant to do was get another drink. That’s all I meant to do, I swear it. I would never have done anything to intentionally hurt you because you were my best friend, the one I called out too, cried to, wrote shitty poetry for, and most of all loved more than I loved any other friend. When I went to the car with him, I thought yeah… maybe I’ll smoke some more too and talk a little. I know it’s not okay to blame things on the tequila and weed, but you’ve done stupid things on tequila and weed too right?

We talked about drumming when we went out to the car and I sang him the first song I had ever written by myself. I was so proud to have my first song, the one that was all mine and meant that maybe I was better than some stupid 9-5 job. I sang him the song not because I wanted him to hear it because I would rather have sung it to you, but because I needed to get it out of my soul because it replayed itself over and over again in there and it needed to be let out.

As I sang, his hands beat the steering wheel and the dash then the windows making my song come to life with the beat of his makeshift drum kit. I was delirious with joy because it was like he understood me for a second and that’s all I wanted. When the music was done he said, “I want to sleep with you, you’re so sexy.” A, I knew that I couldn’t do that because I would never do that to you, and so I shook my head and said instead, “I won’t, but I’ll kiss you.” God, this all sounds like an excuse and I’m sure at the end it will still sound like one and I can’t take it back though that’s the one thing I wish that I could do.

After it happened I realized it was wrong and that I couldn’t take what had happened back, swore with him that we would never say a word, took another swig of tequila and headed back into the club. “What took you so long?” you said. I felt that you already knew, did you?

I introduced you to someone to distract you, a guy I was seeing at the time. I thought if you saw me kiss him that you would forget your worry and doubts. I kissed him though I didn’t want to. Laid it on really thick for you to make it look like there was more than there was and instill doubt in your suspicions.
You smiled at me as we all danced, this is the last time I would see your smile except for in pictures I would look at later to remind me we had been friends. The dance floor was dying and my date had to leave and for his departure I was glad. I met someone else to fill his shoes, someone else in the bar to buy me a drink and tell me I’m pretty. I know that’s all I really wanted but I shouldn’t have taken it from “him” because he was yours, he still is yours.

I took the guy from the bar home that night. It wasn’t the first time I had done that, nor would it be the last, though it was closer to the ending. It was close to the ending because it wasn’t long after in the silence that came that I realized how selfish I had been, how selfish to kiss him because of how lonely I thought my heart felt. I didn’t understand until the silence that you were more important than any other person in my life. As the silence grew, a hole deeper and wider and more menacing than any I had seen, made its home in my heart. It made itself quite comfortable there and I tried to stitch it up, cover it, fill it in, but nothing seemed to.

I thought that the silence would end, but it never did. The hole has closed up a little, but it’s still there and it still consumes things when it is hungry for its fill. I miss you and I’m sorry for how selfish I was and for how selfish I probably still am. I’m sorry that I hurt you like I did and wish I never had because you didn’t deserve that, especially not from me.
I’ve tried getting you back for years now, but it is a futile pursuit. All I can say now is that I miss you, love you, and hope the best for your life. Please know, I never meant to hurt you.




Dear R,
I’m sorry I didn’t fold the laundry and put it away. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.


Bunk beds

Dear Shawn,
Do you remember how dark it was in the tiny room we shared long ago? You slept on the top bunk while Keith slept on the bottom because he would fall out of bed every night after waking us both to his night terrors, on his knees punching his pillow and pounding his head on the wall in front of him till chalky white dust lined his already chalky white forehead. He never saw the fear in our eyes when we thought he might kill himself from the nightmares we could not imagine a little boy would have. I still wonder what it was he saw at night. Do you know? Would you tell me if you did?

I slept on the pullout twin bed beneath the bunk beds that you both told me alligators lived under. I sometimes slept with one eye open towards the gaping hole in hopes that if the gator came I could run faster than the two of you even though you told me he would want my succulent flesh more than the bones that pierced through your extra small shirts as your ribs were pulled up and down while breathing. My ribs were hidden under layers of gummy bears and Happy Meals.

My mom and I moved in when I was almost five and you were so angry at first. You were angry that I would take the other bed that you saved for your friends for sleepovers, the one that had the extra teenage mutant ninja turtles sheets and got changed to princesses when I came along. You shoved me in the dark space with the alligators sometimes and laughed while cried and screamed for my mom, but I want to tell you that I think it was good that I saw the dark things in the dark spaces then because they don’t scare me now.

I was never mad at you Shawn, because the first day I saw you on that little playground riding the springy horse outside of the Saratoga apartment complex that smelled like pine needles from spring through winter, I loved you. You were the first boy I met that looked like me. Your skin was olive and smooth like mine. You had a superman t-shirt on with a pair of oversized jeans that barely fit your almost five year old body. Your hair was fine soft dark brown tendrils that wrapped around your ears and made soft ringlets on your forehead. You had a wide smile and a missing tooth and I knew that we were destined to be married one day, like in Sleeping Beauty. You might say now that when I was almost five I didn’t know what love was, but sometimes I think I knew more then than I know now. I knew that I would have given you all of my Barbie’s if you had asked for them, but you never did, so I asked my mom for Lego’s because I knew you liked those and would want to play with me then.

We moved our stuff in without your permission, though you knew I was coming. Your mom, Dorothy was the one that told you and Keith to put the new sheets on for me as a surprise. I can only imagine the disgust you felt as I invaded your room and your lives. I was only there because my mom had brought me. I wouldn’t have come if she and your mom hadn’t decided that they wanted to be more than just friends.

We had played many times before this, but because we had to not because we wanted to. You and Keith always wanted to play battle games while I wanted to play Cinderella, but instead we would compromise on Hot Lava. We would jump from the slide to the bars and sometimes onto those springy horses that you loved in order to avoid the lava sand. We knew it wasn’t real, but sometimes we would play for hours chasing each other around, trying to push one another in until one of us stood as the sole survivor.

Are you surviving now Shawn? Things aren’t like they were when we were almost five, when we didn’t realize how simple things really were. When sometimes I would swear and get my mouth washed out with soap and Keith would break things, and you would steal from neighbor’s mailboxes and Dorothy would find her belt for you both. We would all put up a fight and start crying before the soap or the belt came, but it didn’t stop anything, they would always come and be over with quicker than we thought. We would go to our room with the other two musketeers, climb onto our beds and cry because there was no place in our tiny apartment to be alone. Do you remember? Those were the days when you still thought it was okay to cry in front of people.

I always wanted to hug you when you cried, but I never did because I loved you and I didn’t want you to know, so I would say something like, “you know play dough tastes better than soap” or “do you wanna play with Michelangelo and I’ll be Leonardo?” to take your mind off of it. We would play and you would stop crying though your eyes would be sad for a while and I would smile because I helped and I knew one day when we were married I would never let you cry. Do you cry now? Does anyone hug you?

Eventually you grew to tolerate me, maybe even like me enough. We all played together, went camping together, learned to ride our bikes together. For a little while we were like a real family with your mom and my mom watching our every move, but then a couple years later it was over. One day my mom brought me to a new apartment and asked me if I liked it. I said, “it would be better with a dog.” She laughed with the “honey, that’s really cute, but it’s never gonna happen” laugh that I’m sure you remember well. Then she told me this was going to be our new home for a while, just till she could get the money to move us into a place of our own.

We were six then and it was just the beginning of summer. I had been excited about that summer because I knew we would get to spend all of our time together and camp and I would get to see you and your skinny, shirtless six year old body on the waterslides in Manteca. You would make me laugh with some funny story about a prank you pulled and I would follow you around and have my friends follow you around too.

We didn’t get to have that summer though. It’s not that I never saw you, but that I saw you less. Dorothy would bring you around sometimes, but mostly she would just bring Keith without you. I would wonder where you were and found out that you were with your biological family. I had met them once before, they were the black side of your family and I wondered what they were like and if they loved you like I did. You missed the time when Keith and I got to stay up and watch Nightmare on Elm Street with my mom and were permanently scared to get on her waterbed. You were probably watching something with your brothers in a house on the East side of town. The east side was the bad side of town, so I thought maybe it would turn you bad. Do you think that’s what went wrong?

A few months later my mom found a place for us to live in San Jose, it was even farther away from you. Dorothy found Keith, her, and you a place too in East San Jose. It wasn’t until then that I realized we were going to be living separate lives. I hated knowing that we would have to live separate lives for a while, but I just knew it would be okay because it would all be fine once we grew up and got married.

We’re grown up now and I really want to say something about that thing that happened when we were eight. Are you still angry at me for that? I hope I didn’t hurt you too much. Please write back and please let me know how everything’s going in prison. I just think it’s not fair that you’re there. Not fair at all.



Apology Series

I am beginning a new series on this blog called the Apology series. I will be writing apologies to people from the past, I will be writing from the perspective of people I have wanted to apologize to me. Some will be straight forward, some will take a while to lead up to the apology. This series will be very emotionally complex and may reveal more of my past than I’m necessarily comfortable with, but I’m going to do it anyway. I have been trying to escape from these memories, but… there is nowhere to escape.