10.Dear Liz,
How do I say this? I’m in love with you. There. I guess that’s how I say that. Right there. The first moment I saw you I knew. That first moment where you looked at me. I think you felt it, too, no? If you didn’t, then, wow, I’m really surprised. You looked at me, right? You wanted me like I wanted you? I mean, again, if you didn’t, well, then I guess I just don’t know how to read people at all. Have I ever told you how much I love your smell? It’s the best smell I’ve ever smelled in my entire life. Before that smell I always thought the best smell was the mixture of my mother’s perfume coupled with the booze she had been drinking those nights she was out with my father. The perfect mixture would fill my half-sleeping nostrils when she’d come in to check on me and kiss me a belated good night. That was my favorite smell until I smelled you. I think that smell is just natural, though, right? ’Cause I don’t think you wear perfume and I’m pretty sure you’re not drinking before acting class. Or are you? If you are, I don’t care. Nothing you can do is wrong in my eyes. To be honest, if you told me that you murdered someone I wouldn’t care. Is this too intense? I figure it’s not because you’re so intense. To the point where I often worry about you. You make me feel every emotion at once, including really negative emotions. I remember when I used to see you with Phil in the Grapes of Wrath rehearsal. You two would be rolling around on the stage. Lightly wrestling and giggling. You probably had sex with him, didn’t you? I should have let you know how I feel sooner. But that’s on me, I know. I kept my feelings inside. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t do anything. Well, that’s what this letter is. From now on all I am is a doer. You make my skin ache. I’m so in love with you. I can’t stand it. I almost wish I wasn’t. It’s all so tragic. But the tragedy is so right. You feel it’s right, right?
Love forever,
Mendel
Mendel!
You are fucking crazy, man! It’s hot, though. I can also tell that you hate yourself, which is also hot. Yes, I did think you were hot that first day in class. Not just you, though. There were three guys and one girl I thought were hot that first day in class. Mike, Phil, Lauren, and you. Weird that you’re the only one I haven’t had sex with yet. But somehow I imagine the sex is going to be the best with you. That is if we ever have it. I don’t know. Sex might soon become a thing of the past for me. At least for a little while. Ever since my mother called me a whore it’s the only thing I can think about when I’m being sexual in any way. Even when I kiss someone I see that bitch’s face calling me that. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am a whore. I don’t know. I might be in love with you, too. But then again I don’t know if I’m in love with anyone. I don’t know if that’s something I’m even capable of or want in my life. But when I’m lying in my bed at night and I think of you, something warm comes over me. Perhaps warm enough to drown my mother out. I told you she’s an alcoholic, right? Last night she passed out naked on the front porch. I just let the bitch sleep there. You know, you don’t really look like a Mendel. You’re more like a Ron. I think I’ll call you Ron from now on. If you let me call you Ron there’s definitely a much bigger chance that we fuck. You know how damaged I am, right? You should know what you’re getting yourself into. I want to kiss you right now. That’s weird, huh? Also, I want your dick in my mouth . . . I think? Maybe I don’t. I might ask you to never talk to me again.
Love?
Liz
Liz,
Please don’t ever talk like that ever again. You are not damaged in the slightest. Trust me. I’m damaged as fuck. The other day I thought of you maybe not loving me and I almost stabbed myself in the stomach with my Swiss Army knife. I went to do it and then stopped myself right before the blade reached my stomach. Just one more centimeter and I would have gutted myself. See? That’s damaged. You? You’re not damaged. Sure, you might be incredibly manipulative, but you are in no way damaged. And fuck your mom. Sorry, is that not okay to say that? You’re not a whore. Women have a right to have sex with as many people as they want. I don’t even believe there is any such thing as a whore. Just women doing the world a great service. Women who should be thought of in the same light as teachers or doctors. I gotta say that I’m confused, though. To be honest I feel a bit of a push and pull here. And I don’t do well with that. That push-and-pull game makes me feel like an ugly fucking troll. And don’t worry. I know what I’m getting into here. The question is, do you know what you’re getting into here? I don’t think you’ve ever been loved in the way that I would love you. And yes, please call me Ron. If I have to change my name to Ron for you to let me in, I’ll gladly do it. Can I tell you a secret? No one’s ever told me they wanted to kiss me before, let alone told me that they wanted my dick in their mouth. Can I be honest? I came right after I read that. I didn’t even touch myself. I just exploded. I want to be absorbed into you. I want you to be absorbed into me. I want you planted in my flesh. Feeding off me like a parasite. Every little bit of me. Please, Liz. I beg you. Devour me.
Love,
Ron
Dearest Ron,
Wow. I didn’t think you could top your first letter with hotness, but here you’ve gone and done did it. I’m still wet from reading it. You want to be my daddy, don’t you? Oooooooh, that’s hot. Actually my real dad is pretty cool. Very caring. He’s the better parent for sure. But I could always have two daddies, couldn’t I? I mean that whole part of us “absorbing” and “devouring” each other. So fucking hot. It also actually gave me a great idea. What do you say we write to each other like we are the other person? You be Liz, and I’ll be Ron. Wouldn’t that be fucking cool? I love role-playing. One time I role-played with Phil. I was Sylvia Plath and he was my cable guy. I know cable wasn’t invented during Sylvia Plath’s lifetime, but that was part of the fantasy. Sylvia Plath (me) time-traveled during her (my) first suicide attempt. Her (my) oven, it turns out, was also a time machine that transported her (me) to the ’90s. Once there, one of the first things she (I) did was watch Sex and the City. Which she (I) absolutely loved. Then, as I’m sure you can guess, her (my) cable broke, so she called the cable guy (Phil). He then came over and they (meaning we) had the best fuck of Sylvia Plath’s (my) life. Totally wiped out her (my) depression. She (I) came like eight times. Then on my (Sylvia’s) eighth orgasm, she’s (I’m) transported back to the past, and everything goes back to normal and she (I) writes The Bell Jar. So what do you say we try it? I’ll write to you as you and you write to me as me. I’ll be you and you’ll be me. What do you say, Liz?
Love,
Ron
Dearest “Ron,”
Hi, it’s me, “Liz.” That’s right. I’m Liz and you’re Ron. That’s how it’s always been and how it will always be. I’ve never been Ron or even Mendel, and you have never been Liz. And boy, am I glad that’s the case, ’cause if it were the other way around I’d be in love with Liz and that would make me a narcissist. Which I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have passionate love for you. Well, love and lust, of course. Deep lust. Lust so deep you’d have to dig a hole to find it. Not that it’s hidden. It’s not. It’s just deep. It’s not hidden at all. It is out in the open. An open field of lust, and I’m Julie Andrews twirling and singing about it. “The hills are alive with the sounds of fucking.” Beautiful, right? I tell yuh, I just can’t wait till I’m eating chocolate cake out of your ass crack. Okay. No more foolin’ around. No more games. I know I’ve been playing a lot of them. One minute I say one thing. The next minute I do the opposite. I write you about how much I want to make sweet love to you, but then I ignore you at school. That’s not cool, and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been so mysterious. Well, the mystery has been solved. I love you. Isn’t that wonderful? What do you say we celebrate by spending the rest of our lives together? I know that might be a little fast, but I’m compensating for all the agony I’ve put you through leading up to this moment. What do you say? Never leave my side?
Love,
“Liz”
Hey Mendel,
On second thought, let’s not do the switch thing. To be honest it feels a little tepid. I mean if we’re gonna get crazy, why half-ass it, right? Why not just go for it? Let’s turn it the fuck up. I got an idea! How about you write me as my stalker. Wouldn’t that be fun? And yes. The answer is yes. I in fact do have a stalker fantasy. GUILTY AS CHARGED. How does that sound?
Loving you in this moment (even though I don’t know what the next moment will bring),
Liz
Dear Liz,
You really think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you? You got a smart mouth, don’t you? The smartest mouth in the whole school. A straight-A mouth. It graduated first in its smarty-pants class, didn’t it? DIDN’T IT, SMART STUFF!!!!!! You’re ignoring me, Liz. I talk and you don’t listen. It’s like you don’t hear me. But I know you hear me, Liz. You hear my whispers in your head. I know everything about you, Liz. I know what you think. I know where you live. I know how tight your panties are. That’s right. I broke into your house and tried on every single pair. How could I not? I would be crazy not to. First of all, they’re panties. Second of all, they’re your panties. And when I put on your panties, I pretend I’m you, Liz, as I prance around your bedroom. I do my panty-prancy all around your room with a smart mouth just like your smart mouth. Here’s the deal—you better get with the program. My program. ’Cause if you don’t get with my program you’re gonna get with the DEAD program. That’s right. I’ll kill you. I’d rather see you dead than see you kiss anyone else with that smart mouth of yours. How does it feel to feel like you’re better than me? Well, the thing is, you are. I agree with you. You’re superior to me in every way, and I can’t have that. That’s why you gotta date me, because if you date me then you’ll be lowering yourself, and once you do that we’ll be equals. I can’t stand how much better you are than me. But then again, you’re better than everybody, aren’t you? Queen Liz. Queen of everything. Aren’t you, smart mouth?
Be mine or die!
Love,
Mr. Fun
Dear Mendel,
This is Glen Rottman. Liz’s father. My daughter just showed me the letter you sent her. Or should I say, that Mr. Fun sent her. I’ll keep this short and sweet. If I ever see you near my daughter. If she ever receives a letter or a phone call from you. If I hear about anything involving you in the slightest, I will grab you by the back of the head and take your wisdom teeth out on my fucking curb. Do you hear me? I don’t know what kind of sickness you suffer from, but you better find some kind of medicine, ’cause if not I got my own medicine for you. And this medicine’s not in my medicine closet . . . it’s in my gun closet. Time for you to SMARTEN up, Mr. Fun. Or else the fun is going to be over for you forever.
Fuck you.
Mr. Glen Rottman, Esq.
Dear Mr. Rottman,
Mendel Freudenberger here. How can I begin to say how sorry I am. I am truly mortified. Not sure you’re aware of this, but Liz and I have been something of pen pals as of late. In these letters we’ve shared quite a bit, and have really gotten to know each other. In fact, honestly speaking, I feel like I know your daughter better than I know members of my own family. I can honestly say the last thing I would ever want to do would be to make her feel in danger in any way. Actually, the exact opposite is true. I don’t want to throw Liz under the bus here. I tell you this next thing purely to ease your anxiety. I’m not sure what Liz told you, but she actually asked me to write her like I was some sort of stalker. I swear on the life of my mother, it was all her idea. I had never written a stalker letter before. The simple reason for that being that I have never stalked anyone before. In rethinking about what I wrote I definitely see how it might have been a little “too much.” I most certainly could have eased up on the insults, and violent threats. Not to mention the profanity. Anyway, sir, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I truly respect you. Most of all because you raised someone as brilliant and amazing as your daughter. My deepest apologies. As much as it breaks my heart, I give my word I will never contact your daughter ever again. Have a nice life. I won’t.
Truly sorry,
Mendel Freudenberger
Ron!
Hahahaha. You are so cute. Such a cute fucking idiot. Dude! That wasn’t my dad! I haven’t seen my dad in four years since he left my mother after finding her fucking my ex-boyfriend Ron on the kitchen floor. You remember Ron Miller, right? He was a senior when we were freshmen. He’s in jail for committing armed robbery at a McDonald’s. Anyway . . . April fools’, dumb ass! I can’t believe you fell for that. You think I’d tell you to write me something like that and then rat you out?!!! I mean, I’m fucked up but I’m not that fucked up. You should have stood up for yourself more. If that was my dad, what fucking business is it of his what we write to one another? Also speaking of ratting out. I can’t believe you threw me under the bus like that. Really can’t stand any sort of heat, can you? I gotta be honest, that is a major turnoff. You’re really not who I thought you were at all, are you? I thought you had strength. You really don’t, though, do you? I really need to think here. I thought I loved you. I thought that I wanted you more than anyone I’d ever wanted in my life, but to be honest I’m not so sure now.
Give me a minute,
Liz
Liz,
I can’t take it. I can’t take not knowing if you still love me or not. I don’t think I can live with this nightmarish wondering anymore. So, guess what? I’m not going to. Instead, I’m taking it all into my own hands. And by “it all” I mean a bottle of pills, and by “my own hands” I mean my own mouth. If you’ve guessed that this is a suicide note, Liz, then you’ve guessed right. After your last letter I realized that I would never be safe from losing you. You’re a self-sabotager, Liz. I know that’s really hypocritical coming from someone who is about to kill himself, but it’s true. I don’t think you want to be loved. Not loved in the right way. Not loved the way I would love you. And I know you’ll just push me away for good someday. I’m not sure how final your last letter was, but let me assure you this letter is very final. The most final. I mean it’s a suicide note. It’s time for me to finally be free from my love for you. And now you’re free from your love for me. Or at least free from wondering about whether or not you love me. I hope there’s such a thing as ghosts. So I can haunt you. But then I guess I wouldn’t be free, would I? So I guess I hope that I won’t become a ghost. Because ghosts really are never free, are they? Are they? Are . . . pajama pants washer board. Oh no, I’m feeling the pills take jarba jooba booba. I’m gong. I’m tahnahnahtahlashtahtah . . .
Luvre,
Meinzjk
Mendel,
I just cannot believe you killed yourself. I gotta say it’s really selfish, but I guess I’ve been selfish, too. I wish you would have waited a little longer to do this, because after I gave it all a good think I realized that I did want to be with you. That I couldn’t see my life without you by my side. And now . . . now you’re gone and that will never happen and I just can’t forgive myself for that. Not just for how I treated you, but for how I treated myself. For being so reckless and depriving myself of your deep love for me and my oh-so-deep love for you. You’re right. I’m my own worst enemy, and I’ll always be. I’ll always look for a way to just knock the whole thing down. So if that’s the case, if that’s my mode, there’s really only one thing to do. And that’s finish the job once and for all. And be a copycat. A copycat of you, my love. Meow meow. You know what that means in cat? It means “I’m going to kill myself.” Good-bye, my love. Or should I say hello, because you’re already dead and I’m coming to join you. Unless they don’t let me in heaven, which is actually a distinct possibility. But I don’t really believe in hell. I wonder if you did. We really didn’t cover that wide a range of subjects, did we? Anyway, here I go. Down the hatch. Mmmm, these pills taste like nothing. I guess that’s what it all is, isn’t it? It’s all a whole lotta nothing.
See you in a minute, Mendel . . .
My dearest Liz,
Okay, hahahaha. Joke’s over. I didn’t kill myself. And I know you didn’t kill yourself, either. I guess we were trying to prove a point, right? Well, point proven. We really love each other and we shouldn’t kill ourselves. Love is life, Liz. Love is life. But I’m not dead and neither are you, so let’s take this love and this life to the next level. When can I see you?
Love,
Mendel
Mendel,
I really wish you would not have joked about killing yourself. Because I wasn’t joking and I really did. That’s right, I killed myself. I’m dead, and I’m writing you this letter from hell. Yep, that’s where they sent me. Apparently I was too much of a sinner. Not a hot take, to be honest. Mendel, I probably should just come out and say it—I am seeing someone. And you’ll never guess who it is. It’s Satan! That’s right. He’s really nice. It happened so out of nowhere. I was just strolling along when all of a sudden I felt this tap on my shoulder. I then turned around and there he was. And that was pretty much it. What can I say? The guy’s got red-hot charisma. He actually reminds me of you. I’m not exactly sure why. I’m also not exactly sure if that’s true or not. It might have to do with how he makes love. How he makes love I imagine is the way that you make love. Obviously I can only imagine because we never did. But he’s amazing in bed. And I imagine you are, too. Guess I’ll never know. Well, maybe I will if you end up down here, and things go south with me and Old Scratch. I’m sure they will. I definitely think you were onto something when you called me a self-sabotager. Well, I guess that’s it. That’s it for this letter and that’s also it for us. What a weird thing to know that I’m never going to see you again. But that’s probably a relief for you, isn’t it? No more crazy bullshit to deal with. I’m sorry I made you want me so much. I should have cut you off months ago. But I’m glad I didn’t. Take care, Mendel. I hope you can find someone who loves you all the way. Who isn’t confused. And most of all, who isn’t in hell.
Love for all eternity,
Liz