To: yikes!izzy
Date: Sunday, October 9—7:58 PM
Subject: Re: nightmares
Dear Isabel,
You’re scaring me. If this is just one of your drama-queen performances where you make me worry for no reason, then I’m really mad at you and expect you to make it up to me with a care package of fresh-baked brownies and naked photos. If you’re serious, then I don’t really know what to say. Do you expect me to know what to say? Or is everything you ask rhetorical? What kind of conversation do you expect to have if you keep asking questions no one can answer?
It was a dream, Isabel. That’s all. You woke up and now it’s over. Okay? You don’t need to cry anymore. That was fake and this is real and there are bigger problems than you being invisible, like war and famine and racism and homophobia and genocide and my American History paper due on Wednesday.
I’m tired too, Isabel. Everyone is. You’re not the only person in the world, invisible or imaginary or dead or whatever else you can dream up. You’re not the only one who feels pain. Although of course yours is prettier and more eloquent than most, and your theatrics are far more compelling. I’d love to wrap myself inside your sadness and pretend it is mine. You could sell those tears of yours. What do you say we go into business? I’ll be the pimp for your sadness. We’ll make a fortune.
Love,
Connor