"Dear Prudence" by Amanda Grieme

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Dear Briar...Twister

The evening of 3/26 - Twister

Dear Briar -

This is a real trip isn’t it? Life. We are like game pieces. “King me,” or “I won,” “Sorry,” or “I’ll take Entertainment, please,” or “Oh Balderdash,” I forgot “You sunk my battleship,” and “Park Place for $5000.” “Right hand red, left foot blue,” Briar. What will it be? I wonder who’s playing our pieces, or if we are in complete control like the Caterpillar said. “Survey Says,” I don’t think so. There are just too many coincidences to be chalked up as such. Is “worthwild a word?” “Connect Four.”

I used to think that it was all a game, and that death would be a game, too. I began to compose these letters with the intention that they would be my vain attempt at saying goodbye to those that have touched my life, and given me life, if in the event that I had to fly. It’s really hard feeling this way, and I’ve felt like a burden for so long. I don’t know exactly how I would have done it, but it would have been far away from everyone I loved, so that they didn’t have to deal with funeral preparations, and the unnecessary pain of having to see my lifeless body. I would have just given my letters to everyone ...but then the other day happened.

I had an appointment with Frieda, and I was feeling unusually low, although I pretended to be ok. The entire time I drove there, I tried to plot my suicide, half serious half depressed-think. When my appointment was over, I decided to drive to my sister’s house to visit, in search for some solace. When I walked in, my mom was there working in the office, and my sister was at the doctor with little Jane who was sick. I descended the stairs to the den, and my mom greeted me with a great big smile from the office on the right, and on the left, Ellijah’s 6-year old eyes lit up and he yelled, “Ana ... did you miss me,” he said with his little arms outstretched, “Is that why you are here?”

I melted onto the couch next to him, and he curled up onto my lap and gave me a great big hug, and showed me his missing tooth. I hugged him and kissed his freckled nose and his blonde hair. “How are you El?” I said.

“Good, . . . I missed you! Would you like to go to the movies with me sometime? We could go see ‘Home on the Range,’ just like when we went to see the ‘Cat in the Hat.’”

Then he whispered so my mom, his Gaga couldn’t hear, “Maybe we could get some candy again, and play some video games.” He giggled deviously. It was our secret. He continued to tell me all about the Bugs Bunny cartoon that he loved, wide green eyes smiling, and his voice, dripping with love drifted off, and I knew at that moment, choking on my own selfishness that I couldn’t possibly ever take my life. It would break little Eli’s heart. He just wouldn’t understand, and like Jack has said to me on several occasions, “you would shatter a piece of everyone who loves you, and they’d never be the same.”

I spun and got a “free turn,” Briar.
I am back in the game.
Love, Ana

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