To: yikes!izzy
Date: Friday, March 16—7:04 PM
Subject: breathing
Dear Isabel,
I talked to your sister today. She said you’re doing really well. She seems like a no-nonsense kind of person, so I’m pretty sure she’s telling the truth. She said everyone at the hospital is really nice and knows what they’re doing, and you seem to genuinely want to do what they tell you. We laughed about that a little—you doing what you’re told. It must really be serious if you’re not fighting everyone every chance you get. We were sort of laughing like it was a joke, but we both knew it wasn’t a joke at all. We talked about how we want to feel relieved that you’re getting help, but it’s a tentative kind of hope. I guess the stronger you get, the stronger the hope will get too.
It’s torture not being able to see you, but I guess I understand why it should only be family at the beginning. Mom and Jeremy have been great, and it’s been nice getting to know your family. But I feel like everyone’s just paper cutouts of themselves, that the only real people are you and me. Señor Cuddlebones knows something’s wrong and has been by my side nonstop. Sometimes I have to stop what I’m doing so I can remind myself to breathe, and it’s like it’s her cue to lean over and lick my hand until everything feels a little more normal. It’s like a gift she has or something. My mom’s friend Liza brings animals to retirement homes to cheer up the patients. I should tell her Señor Cuddlebones wants to apply for the position.
I’m talking nonsense now. I guess I don’t really have a whole lot to say. It’s like someone pushed a big pause button, and time is stopped. We’re all just waiting for something to happen, like the president is going to make a big State of Isabel’s Mental Health speech, and then we’ll know what we’re supposed to do with ourselves.
Love,
Connor