Letters Never Sent

The space in the car around me feels hallow, as if not even I exist to fill it up. Maybe it’s the darkness, or the glow of the dashboard lights. The radio breathes thin tendrils of music into the empty air, where they dissolve somewhere between the speakers and my ears. Song lyrics always remind me of some person or other. Sometimes several people, sometimes ones from years ago who in some way left their own little wrinkle in my brain, people phased in and out of my life. There is no one else on the road so my mind wanders, and in my head I write letters. Letters I will never send because it’s been too long, but things I’d like to say nonetheless.

Dear Whom-It-May-Concern,
Goodness, I’d forgotten about you until this song played. I guess that line just had the ring of ’97, crawling through sheep pens at the county fair. That’s where we met, two little children wallowing gleefully in the dirt, hiding from the searching eyes of our parents. I just wanted to pet the animals, but I think you were making trouble, the way you beckoned me to follow you through fences and into the arena. I hadn’t planned to go that far but you had whetted my appetite for adventure and there was no going back. Did we get in trouble for that? I don’t remember. But I know you watered a seed of mischief in me that never quite died, even after all of life’s attempts to eradicate it. Looking at me now I don’t know who would guess it, but it’s still there, that itch for a little innocent trouble. I’m glad you were there to help it along when you did.
Nostalgically,
Elise.

Dear Anonymous,
I don’t remember your last name; after all, we only knew each other through similar confessions. But through what you had the courage to admit, you helped to let me know that I wasn’t the only one. And at the end you had such kind words for me; I think I still have your note in a box somewhere. The box painted black with moons and stars, and words from magazines pasted on with diluted Elmer’s glue. We made them together and yours turned out prettier, but I’m not supposed to say that. I’m supposed to say it’s not “better”, just “different”. But we all knew a good craftswoman when we saw one, and I think you knew too; you were just too nice to agree. That was sweet of you, and for some reason your subtle gestures stuck with me.
Fondly,
Elise.

Dear So-and-So,
You threw me for a loop, you know that? You were once royalty to me, but now I seem to have forgotten how to bend my knees at all. I’m not saying it’s your fault; I don’t know how it happened, really. But of you I will say that it’s strange to have once been so sure of something so utterly phantasmal. Don’t worry, though; I don’t blame you. You had no idea who you’d grow up to be. Clearly, neither did I. I think what I saw in you was squelched by the time we were eighteen, cut up like your favorite pair of jeans. That was never very fair, was it? I was sorry for you then; I still am. When we were children I thought we’d always “keep in touch”—isn’t that what you said? We mimicked the grown-up phrases of our parents, as if we had some control over our little lives. We never anticipated being swept away by such different currents, and such foreign ones. What an interesting phenomenon to analyze beneath the microscope of what I know now. I’ve studied it a thousand times but I don’t think you ever bothered to look. That’s alright; it matters far less than I once thought.
Apathetically,
Elise.
P.S. I’m sorry I made fun of your glasses that one time. I didn’t mean it; in truth I liked them. I wear glasses now, too.

Dear Such-and-Such,
I don’t think I’ll ever forget that night I showed up at your door, sobbing, shaking, tears and nose running; I thought Satan himself was at my heels. We barely knew each other's names but you took me in like an injured puppy and read to me verses of God’s courage, and thus you ushered me through my first panic attack. Of course at the time I didn’t know what it was; I only knew that, at that moment, I was a terrified nineteen-year-old infant. And in that moment of complete helplessness, you took care of me.
Gratefully,
Elise.

Dear Recipient,
You always made me laugh; you always made everyone laugh. Granted, your jokes were at times inappropriate for the child I was at the time, but I thought they were funny anyway. A parent’s nightmare of a babysitter, you encouraged my brother and I to jump on the bed and make prank phone calls. It’s probably been seven years since I heard from you, even after I wrote you that twelve-page-long letter. I still have the one you sent to me before that. I don’t take it personally; I know you have your spells, your pains and anxieties. I know it’s been a long time, but I hope you know it’s never too long. You could always come back; you could come jump on the guest bed and eat all the pizza, sing parody versions of Christmas carols and my parents would tell you what a bad influence you are. They’d be smiling, though; they miss you too. Maybe even more than I do. I don’t know what it was this time that made you disappear, but I wonder how you’re doing now and if whatever demons are still haunting you. I hope not. I hope you’re alright.
Pensively,
Elise.

It would be strange to say all these things now, after so many years. And maybe it’s better that way, though I’ve always been a fan of open communication. So many things left unsaid and the road stretches out in front of me; there are still several exits until I’m close to home. My wistfulness remains. The music continues to unearth memories and on and on they go, these letters-never-sent.

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