forty-one

I finally finished the letter I began in Veronica’s backyard. Truth is, I never got beyond Dear Veronica that day beneath the fire escape. All I need to do now is sign it and it will be official. Forever.

 

Dear Veronica:

Forgive me for not conjuring your image in my mind for long stretches of time and for the days that pass without thoughts of you or wishes for your peaceful rest or a better rebirth or protection from the lord of death and his legions of doom.

Only two months gone and the hours, days, and weeks are already filled with things other than the tremendous loss I felt when you passed. The inertia, paralysis, and grief that hung about me have disappeared. My mind has released itself from the burden of your absence and I feel like a shitheel because of it.

And I threw away the necklace you gave me.

Forgive me for not having your face permanently emblazoned in my brain anymore. I had hoped you would be there always without pause, in my thoughts constantly for years, my mourning and sorrow continuous for decade upon decade.

But here it is, only eight weeks later, and I’m over it. How awful and unkind. How selfish, egoistic, and disgusting of me.

Last week I was sitting by the window and a bus drove by. Its exhaust blended with the smell of the rain on asphalt and I was instantly transported to the very first time I stood outside your building. Waiting outside the door for you to come down after your voice, breathless and hurried, came through the intercom and said: “One minute.”

The memory hung clear for a few seconds and then narrowed in focus into smaller and smaller circles of vision, shrinking all the way down to the size and shape of a peephole and then gone. I slept sound and dreamless and woke up rested without a thought or picture of you. Forgive me, please.

What would you say in response to this? Would you say I’m human? It’s human . . . it’s natural . . . it’s to be expected? Or would you say I’m a monster? Cold, heartless, uncaring, and that’s how it’s always been with me and always would have been? Or maybe it’s none of the above? Maybe it’s . . . maybe I . . . maybe . . .

 

Yours Always,