2.3

I always wanted to be famous, to have my letters bound in books and poured over by future historians who were only curious to see exactly what my life was like as they wrote my biography (a national phenomenon and on top of the New York Times bestseller list for fourteen weeks). So we bought journals and wrote back and forth, passing the letterbook to each other every two days or so, always with a new letter inside.

january 23

Today, I skipped homework to hang with Jordan and some other friends. I hope you don’t mind that your boyfriend is a slacker who will never get into college.

february 8

Whenever I go to lunch, I’m always looking for a new group of people to sit with. I’m not sure why you always seem to get there late, but its fun watching you walk in circles like a nervous dog. And somehow, you always find me.

march 16

It’s so nice outside and you’re right next to me, but you still deserve a letter. I’m looking at the shades of your hair as they fall over your face. I think you’re asleep, but every now and again a bug will land on your skin and you’ll twitch.

april 30

Oh, My Gosh. One weekend away and you’re like a totally changed man. Where did this spicy hispanic lover come from with a rose in his teeth? I’m in shock! Did you really miss me that much?

may 14

I wish you would stay in town this summer. Your grandma seems really dope, but she’s not as cool as me. For example, I can make pies too. I can knit, badly. I own at least three ceramic angel figurines. But you’re going away, and you left the book for me to write in while you’re gone. I’m not sure what the point is, but you said you’d read it like a desert survivor drinks water.

june 2

So you’ll be thrilled to learn that when Chuck came by to do his brother-in-law magic on me, I did not die. The boat he put me in (against my will, mind you) did not rebel, as I assumed it would. Instead, it was Chuck who behaved unexpectedly. Chuck cried. In the middle of the lake, totally silent, just a wet face and a soft, huffy breathing. He didn’t talk, and I didn’t talk either. Not for a long time. I was just thinking of you, and I’m sure he was thinking of Melli. In the end, I think I worked more magic on him.

july 22

You haven’t told me whether I should mail this to you so you can write in it every once in a while. It’s really starting to fill up with me blathering on. Soon there won’t be much space for you to respond at all! I’ll have to start using — gasp! Economy of words. That’s unlike me.

august 16

You called today. You didn’t stay on the line for long enough. I’m really getting pissed, but I’m not saying it anywhere but here. Why did you say you love me?

september 28

I’ve been holding on to a lot of emotion for a really long time, but I’m ready to just explode. I came home today and just sort of melted into the carpet. I cried, you know? Like big sobs, uncontrollable, and just yesterday you said you loved me. People who’ve got love don’t sob until their whole face is a swollen mask so puffy as to be useless for facial expressions like rage or fear, which are what they’re feeling, of course. That’s me, there, on the ground, trying to think of reasons to keep going without even a visit from you, or a call, or anything. But I love you, and I want this to work, so I keep pounding away like a clockwork man, hoping against hope to get a heart out of the effort. I just want your heart. I just want your heart. I’m tired of my own; I just want your heart.

You never came back to finish the book. What would people think?