I promise I wrote this last night. But after the spontaneous roadtrip I took with a couple friends yesterday, I pretty much only had enough energy to scratch this down in my notebook before passing out.

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Dear J,

I don’t know you really as well as I should, considering we worked together for as long as we did. You’ve always seemed so quiet and reserved. That doesn’t change how sorry I am about your mom, though. I was pretty shocked when I found out last week. That’s a terrible situation to be in and I wish there was more we all could do for you.

This is really short, but I honestly don’t know what to say. Your mom, you, and your whole family are in my thoughts and prayers. I know that’s probably cold comfort, but it’s all I can do. I hope things get better for all of you and that you can at least cherish the time you have together.

Dear Fellow WKHS Bandies of the ’01-’02 Season,

I’m such a band geek that I would choose this as my favorite memory. I admit that. But, seriously, the memory of that Bloom-Carroll contest just really can’t be beat. It was the perfect addition to that amazing season.

I can still remember the feeling of standing off to the side with all of you before and during the awards presentation. At attention. It was our last chance to qualify for States that year. I remember how loudly we cheered with the other bands before the ceremony started. And then we just had to wait. We on one trophy, then another. We knew we’d gotten 1st Place AA about thirty seconds before they announced it simply by process of elimination. We could hardly stand still right then and at the same time we could hardly dare to believe it. And that was great. But then we won Grand Champion, making WKHS marching band history. We couldn’t stop screaming. I think the only thing that made us scream louder was getting that One rating. I remember that all pretense of order was lost at that moment and we rushed the directors. I seem to recall blowing out my voice that night.

That was one of the most exciting moments of my four years in that band. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the nerves turning to excitement, the feeling that nothing could go wrong. No matter how hard we tried to recreate that moment over the years, nothing else came close.

Dear D,

You were my first kiss. You were also my last kiss (romantic, I mean. I can’t really remember which family member or very close friend I last simply kissed on the cheek in greeting or farewell or congratulations or any of that). That sounds really lame, because we broke up so long ago. You were also my last boyfriend. It was after you broke up with me that things started going a little downhill for me health-wise, although I didn’t realize it until just a couple years ago. I just kind of gave up. I don’t really think I really had a broken heart. I feel like I got over the initial sting too fast for it to be a legitimately broken heart. Maybe just a slightly cracked heart. Whatever happened, I just seemed to give up after you. It would probably take some painful talking/writing/therapy to really figure out the why and it just doesn’t seem to matter as much anymore.

Perhaps I lost my confidence. I was never a huge instigator in romantic or potentially romantic relationships. You kissed me first, not the other way around. I don’t remember who instigated the last kiss, but it was probably you too. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve wanted to kiss other guys since you. I just feel stupid starting it. Who knows? Maybe now that I’m getting control of my life again I’ll find someone else. Maybe my confidence will grow and I’ll instigate something in a relationship for once. Whatever happens, thanks for being my first kiss. I just hope you’re not also my last for much longer.

Dear J,

You might not believe this, because I don’t think I ever told you, but there was a time when I kind of avoided hanging out with you alone. It wasn’t that you weren’t a great friend (you were one of my best and I was very sad when you moved away). It wasn’t that I didn’t like hanging out with you at all. I did. It was just usually better if there were others around.

The reason why this was might seem stupid, so here goes. You always invited yourself over, which was annoying. We always had to play with the dollhouse, which felt silly. We were in middle school. I got tired of playing dollhouse pretty quickly, but you didn’t. You always insisted. I don’t know why, but you were very demanding about it. Sometimes it seemed like your way or the highway.

But you were a great friend overall, don’t get me wrong. I loved having you as a friend. You watched out for me and kept a couple girls in our year from harrassing me. You made me laugh. I loved hanging out with you most of the time. We kept in touch for a while after you moved away. We got back in touch recently and I’m glad for that. I just wish those stupid feelings regarding the dollhouse and the you-inviting-yourself-over didn’t always taint the fonder memories of the other times so much.

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!

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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.