Dear Nate,

The very first day of freshman year, in BESS 1 class, I was forced to sit next to you. I didn’t really want to at first, mostly because I had no idea who you were (I’d been sitting with someone I knew until her friend convinced me to trade places). And then you started talking to me. I had no idea what to do or say, because 1) again, I didn’t know you at all, and 2) frankly, your stories were downright weird. First day of freshman year, third period, and I’m sitting next to this kid who tells me the same two stories over and over again (something about Mary Poppins and something about a skateboard and a truck, if I recall correctly). Honestly, I was a little weirded out. I couldn’t wait for the BESS 1 block to end so I could make my escape.

But then, to my dismay, who should show up at our lunch table but the same kid. I didn’t know what to do, so I think I smiled and nodded a lot (a gesture I’ve done around you for many years since). And then Spanish class. And English 1. Apparently I couldn’t get away. Ever.

Who would have thought, on that first day of freshman year, that we’d be such great friends ten years later. Neither of us killed each other in high school (although, admittedly, we came close). We survived the BESS 1 trip to the zoo together, band trips and bus break-downs, birthday parties, class projects, many more first days of school. Graduation. You gave me a stupid nickname and convinced our Spanish teacher to call me that one day (Papita Frita…really?!). We went to prom in the same group. Our birthdays are only five days apart.

I guess we were destined to be friends. You certainly make life a little more interesting. I just wonder what all would be different had I managed to escape you that first day, if I’d kept that first impression as my truth. I’ll tell you what–I would have missed out on a great friend.

Dear C and E,

It was a long time ago and it probably didn’t seem that big of a deal to you guys at the time. It might even sound really petty. Even I have moved on–I got over what you did a long time ago (say, about two months after you did it). But at the time, I was devastated.

You knew I was vulnerable. You knew I counted on both of you for something at least resembling friendship. I was at my all-time emotional low and you two decided to knock me down a few more notches (well, you two and Anne, but I didn’t expect much better from her).

It sucks that you didn’t seem to think of me highly enough to realize I had feelings. I can’t believe how little regard you had for me. I should have just let you guys go. I shouldn’t have tried to be your friends again. No friends at all, even no not-really-friends friends, would have been better than the hurt you put me through. Those weeks when you ignored me may well have been the best of those years for me–had I not been so preoccupied by what you had done to deliberately hurt me.

Happy 4th of July, all of you Americans! I hope everyone enjoyed spending some time with loved ones, cooking out, fireworks (I saw two different displays over the course of this weekend, so I count it a success), and all those other fun things that scream USA. I probably blew my diet a little. We’ll see how bad the damage was come weigh-in on Tuesday, but I’m not holding out much hope…

And now…the letter!

—————-

Dear Characters,

Yeah, that means you. All of you. Chloe and Alethea; Jack, Kim, Clio, Ella, Gloria; Anna and Samantha and Katherine; Lela and Edmund; even those I haven’t really interacted much with in a while (yes, that means you, Liz and Morgan and Jackie and Ruth). I know you all need and/or want my attention. I know you all have stories to tell. But you really all need to calm down. I can’t concentrate when you’re all screaming and carrying on and competing for attention. I’ll get to you all. Promise.

Liz, Jackie, Morgan, and Ruth–thank you for being the calmest for the time being. I appreciate it. Thank you for understanding that I’m trying to get your stories out there. Now if you could just stop trying to convince me that another Children of the Rose story is necessary, that would be great. Let someone else have the limelight for a while, huh?

Anna, Samantha, and Katherine–I’m working on it. Thank you for being patient while I try to figure things out. I know you’ll still be there when I’m ready and I love you for that. And thanks for reminding me of your presence on a frequent, but not quite irritating, basis. It’s actually helpful. Reminds me that you’re still there.

Jack, Clio, Kim, Gloria, and Ella–you all just need to chill out. You yell and scream and act like five-year-olds when I’m not giving you all of my attention. Share the spotlight and play nice with the other characters, I beg of you.

Lela and Edmund, thanks for realizing that I can’t focus on you just yet. And thanks for gently reminding me you’re there from time to time. I look forward to when I can actually spend time with you and your story.

Chloe and Alethea, thanks for coming back. Don’t go away again. I need you both and I need you to keep talking. And if you could keep the others in line, that would be great.

Now, can we all play nice?

Dear Person I Wish I Could Be,

Why do we spend ninety percent of our time wishing to be someone else? Or something more? Or just different? I’m guilty of it too, and I know this.

I wish I could be skinnier. I wish the thighs would shrink and the belly roll would disappear. Even though I don’t like bikinis, I wish I had the option to wear one and not feel like an idiot. I wish losing weight was as easy for me as it seems to be for everyone else.

I wish I could finally get published. I wish to finally see my name on a book spine in a bookstore. I wish that I could know that people I’ve never met or seen or been introduced to or am connected to in any way were reading a story I’d written.

I wish I was braver. I wish I had the courage to do crazy things like go to NYC on a moment’s notice and blow and entire paycheck and sit in the rain outside a ticket office all night to try to score tickets to a favorite musical. I wish I’d had enough confidence to apply for more than one out-of-state job. I wish I wish more comfortable breaking out of my bubble.

I wish I was more organized. My room is a mess. I should really do something about that.

Dear Victoria,

You were my first real best friend. I’d had good friends before–ones that I spent a lot of time with, or went to their birthday parties, or had sleepovers with–but you were the first friend that I think I counted as my BEST. We were attached at the hip. For the most part, people didn’t see one of us without the other. I remember us only fighting once, and it was a doozy, but that was the only time. We hung out at each others’ houses. Our sisters became best friends too.

My world fell apart when you moved away. That may sound melodramatic, and maybe it is, but that’s how it felt. Third grade ended, you moved away, and my world ended. You see, everyone else in our grade had formed their little social cliques that year. I’d missed that completely (and didn’t even realize I had until a few months later), because it had always been the two of us. So after you moved away and summer ended and fourth grade started, that was when my life started sucking. A lot. Those three years–fourth, fifth, and sixth grades–were the worst of my life, because I had no friends and I despised the only clique that would tolerate me. Sometimes I wonder how everything would have been different if you hadn’t left.

I don’t blame you. It’s not like you had a choice. It’s just something I’ve thought about. And I love the friends I’ve had since middle school, and the friends I have now. I wouldn’t give them up for anything. I may not have had them if you’d stayed. I guess that’s how things need to happen. You need to lose one loved thing to gain another.

Dear A,

Here’s the thing. I know you hate where you live. I know you find it boring and dull and too far away from anything (which isn’t true, by the way, because you’re probably about eight hours closer to NYC than I am). Seriously, everyone gets that. You never shut up about it. And you know I feel this way, because I’ve told you all this, but you just don’t seem to get it.

Nearly everyone hates something about where they live and/or grew up. It’s natural. It’s what almost always happens. For example, I’ve lived in Ohio my whole life (and Columbus all the time I wasn’t in college). I hate that the weather is so indecisive–one minute it can be 90 degrees and sunny without a cloud in the sky, the next it can be a torrential rainstorm. I hate that the only big event I ever seem to be near is OSU football games (this isn’t really true either, since we do get some decent shows that come through here). It’s boring here in Ohio too most of the time, you know. It’s not just your state. We always have construction. The traffic sucks (partly because of the construction, partly because no one can drive).

Here’s the thing–you can’t just always whine. One, because the whining doesn’t change anything. Two, because you annoy the crap out of everyone around you. You have two choices, really. You can stop complaining and just get away as soon as you can. Or you can stop complaining and come to terms with it. Either way, you have to stop complaining. I came to terms with Ohio, and found out I actually love it. You can do whatever you want–I really don’t care either way. But, please, at the very least, stop making every word that comes out of your mouth a complaint about your home state.

I know you’re not going to heed this advice. You never actually listen to any of us. But, still, I had to try.

This is my very first fail. I actually didn’t write this letter yesterday. I kind of forgot. In my defense, however, yesterday was my birthday, so I was a little preoccupied. To make up for this, I wrote two letters today. So now I’m back on track.

————

Dear Kathleen,

It’s so weird not seeing or talking to you every day. And, yeah, I gte that it’s been over a year since we were last roomies, but it’s still strange. For four years, I saw you almost everyday. We had fun as roomies. Our adventures were many. Remember the box wall at 3am during finals? Remember the Founders Hall murder game and the all-night finals week fire drill of Brookhart fame? Our numerous roadtrips to Cleveland for various theatrical events? Or how about when we filled the entire apartment with smoke when we failed epically at making sweet potato fries? Good times.

We’ve always joked that we have a very Elphaba-Galinda friendship and we were very much like them as roommates. And I’ve always realized how incredibly nerdy that sounds, but it’s true. I guess at this point, then, we’re at the post-Defying-Gravity bit of the story. We’ll see each other again, but we’re no longer seeing each other 24/7. We’ve said our goodbyes for now. (I’d say we were after the For Good bit, but neither one of us is about to, you know, melt. But whatever.)

I really miss you and we need to talk more. Our conversations have been so few and far between lately. We need to work on that.