Love Letters to the Dead

For me, maybe the Atlantic has been learning to talk about stuff, even a little at a time. But I think the thing that takes me the most courage is realizing that as many oceans as I might cross, the stupid simple truth will always be on the other side. May was here and then she was gone. I loved her with all of my soul, and she died. And no guilt or anger or longing changes that. There’s a new sadness now, as I open the fist I’ve been clenching shut and realize that there’s nothing there. I don’t know how to keep her anymore. Sometimes I’ll be doing something normal, like standing in the alley with my friends, or getting ready for bed, and suddenly the pain of missing her will come up and nearly knock me over.

But sometimes, there are things that help. Tonight was a good night. Sky came over and watched baseball with me and Dad. He liked it so much when I had Hannah over, I figured I’d try to do that kind of thing more. And he and Sky seemed to be getting along. I was more or less tuning out while they were talking about players and trades and stuff. It’s still early in the season, but I know that the Cubs are doing pretty well so far. In this particular game, however, they were losing by a lot, and Dad just shut it off all of a sudden and said, “What do you say we go out back and have a little ball game of our own?” It’s funny how he comes alive with other people around. Maybe he feels like it’s a sign that I’m letting him into my life, or that I’m not ashamed of our family. Or maybe it’s just been forever since the house hasn’t felt totally quiet.

It was sort of a crazy idea, because it was already almost dark out—the dead game time of dusk—but I thought, why not? So Dad pulled out his old gloves and bat and a wiffle ball, and he pitched for Sky and me. I kept missing, but Dad gave me more than three strikes, and finally I got a good hit. Then Sky pitched to Dad, and he hit the ball clear over the roof! He loved this so much. “Your old man’s still got it!” Dad told me as he ran around the yard, crossing the imaginary bases, and finally calling out, “I made it home!”

It was pretty much totally dark by then, so we figured it was a good note to end on. Dad went to bed, and he was in such a good mood, he didn’t even kick Sky out before he said good night. Sky came into my room with me, and we both sat down on my bed.

“Your dad is really cool,” Sky said. “We should hang out with him more.”

“He likes you. I think it made him happy, you being here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.” He smiled.

I lay down on my pillow. Then I said, “So, my mom’s coming back. Next weekend. At least for the summer.”

“Oh, wow. Are you happy?”

“I don’t know. I want to be, but it’s like I don’t know if I trust it.”

Sky nodded. “I get that. When parents ditch out, it’s pretty hard to forgive them.”

He lay down next to me, and I reached out and let my hand fall onto his chest. “Was he good while he was around?” I asked. “Your dad?”

“Not really. He had his moments, but not so much.” Sky paused, and then he said, “I don’t know what will happen to my mom after next year, if I want to go away to college or something. I’m scared sometimes that I’ll turn out like him. Like I’ll always be the kind of person who leaves.”

I looked at him. “You’re better than your dad. But maybe it’s not your job to make up for him forever.”

His lip that falls a little crooked to the left straightened out when I said that. He was thinking about it.

We lay there next to each other on my bed, quiet for a while, looking up at the bumps in the ceiling that turned to shapes. I remembered lying in May’s top bunk and looking up, trying not to fall asleep so that I could see if she went out to fly.

“Look,” I said to Sky, pointing up. “That’s a face. She’s half girl, half ghost. You can see where she’s split—she only has long hair on the one side.” I pointed to the place where the paint gathered into tresses. “And there, that’s a hand. It belongs to a man living inside the wall. He’s collecting raindrops. He wants to come out and give them to the ghost-girl. She’ll fight off the spirit in her. And then they’ll go together and swim in that ocean”—I pointed—“over there.”

Sky laughed and nuzzled his face into my neck. I put my hand out and stroked his head. He seemed like a little boy just then, in a way that he never had before. Maybe because I felt stronger now, strong enough to hold him.

We didn’t kiss or anything else. We just lay together like that, breathing. I felt something between us shifting, like the hidden plates of the earth. You think you know someone, but that person always changes, and you keep changing, too. I understood it suddenly, how that’s what being alive means. Our own invisible plates shifting inside of our bodies, beginning to align into the people we are going to become.

Yours,

Laurel




Dear Elizabeth Bishop,

At school, everyone is buzzing with the energy of the coming summer, a week and a half away. I went up to Mrs. Buster’s desk today after class. I’d never really spoken to her voluntarily before. But there was something I had to tell her. “You know the assignment from the beginning of school? The letter?” I asked.

“Yes?” She looked surprised.