Wednesday, February 10, 2010

a letter

Oh, Lori. Do you know that I think of you all the time? I think of you and then I scold myself for it. Because you wouldn't approve. You never approved of excessive sentimentality. Where excessive means any. But you are everywhere. And if I am overly sentimental, then so be it. So be it.

The silliest things remind me of you. You know that white shelf in my bathroom? Every time you came over you told me you liked it and asked me where I got it. And I would tell you every time that my mother bought it at Target and that they didn't have it anymore and that you couldn't have mine. And we would smile. Garrison played with that stuffed monkey that smells like cinnamon. He nearly pulled my tablecloth off the table and our salad bowls onto his head. It was the black and green tablecloth with elephants on it. I wish I didn't remember so well. The corner of my bed where I sat and talked to Greg over the phone the night of the day you were arrested. I listened to him and I cried. I sat on the bed that I have to go back to every night and I looked at those pictures in my room that you liked. I told you how much I had paid to have them framed and confessed that I had never told Dan how much I spent because he wouldn't approve, but you told me that was a good price to pay for custom framing.

My chair at work. Where I was sitting the morning that Brian came into the office after walking out of a meeting where he heard you had been arrested. Arrested for murder. The murder of your own son. I still haven't forgiven him for being the messenger that day. Just as well it was him though. There are so few people in the world that I could still love while not forgiving them. I still have to sit in that chair every day. The stairwell, in the back of the building, where I went to cry. I called your cell phone, even though I knew you didn't have it where you were. I didn't even know yet where you were being held. I read the news article and called the detective's number listed there and told him I needed to know where you were. I wanted to talk to my friend. And the sidewalks. The fucking sidewalks are the worst. I miss our walks, you wrote to me.

I can't send this letter to you. I can't. You helped me so many times. And I can't help you. I want to. Some people say there is no such thing as can't, only won't. I don't know if that's true.

I wish you were dead. I've never wished that about anyone. Not even my dad who I've hated since I was five. But I don't hate you. I wish you were free. Is there such a thing?

I told my mother the other night that I had begun to realize, really realize, that I would never be the same again. Or at least I would never be able to look at the world the same way again. The world hasn't changed though has it? These terrible things have always happened. People do terrible things. My mother says that it is evil. That there has always been evil in the world. I don't know what it is anymore. Evil seems too simple a label.

Did you lose yourself or see yourself? Did you have all the power or none at all? I don't know why I ask, the answers never satisfy. But I can't stop asking. I have always been too self indulgent.

I want to scream. I want to go out to the desert and be completely alone under the stars. I want to hold my son and not think of yours.

What happened? How did you let it happen? The answers won't make me understand. But I need to know.

6 comments:

Ms. Moon said...

I can't even imagine what it must feel like to be you in this situation. I am glad you wrote that letter. Even if you never send it to Lori, it is written and those words are true and sent out into the universe and perhaps, in some way, even if you don't get answers, you will get some peace. Oh, how I hope! Love...M

Petit fleur said...

I'm glad you got those feelings outside of yourself in that way. It is a great healing tool, even if it is not immediate or complete, it is a powerful process.

Hang in there, and try to remember, you are grieving 2 people, not just one... it will take some time for you to process it all. You're kicking butt girl.
Peace,
pf

Sarcastic Bastard said...

This is beautiful somehow, Steph. Is that weird to say? It probably is. Your writing is beautiful. The incident obviously was not.

I guess I don't believe in evil--only choices that people make. Some of those choices I will never understand, and they really suck. You friend was not in a normal frame of mind when she did what she did. Therefore, I think you are right, we will never be able to understand why.

You are loved.

SB

Mwa said...

So very profound. I think your world IS different now. That would have seriously messed up all "truths" if there ever were any. I hope writing like this helps you a little. xxx

michelle said...

I have no words.

Bethany said...

This is so powerful. I think you're doing an excellent job trying to sort this out and allow yourself your feelings. I know that doesn't make it go away or feel any better.
I'm so sorry for all the pain.