Letters

Dear Sylva,

There are times when I feel like you can hear me. When I listen to your song, or when I'm just by myself. I know you're not there, that it's impossible, but sometimes you just have to hope, you know? I never told you, but I was always sceptical of there being 'something else' out there. But now I wish for it. I wish for the 'something else' to be you.

You've changed me, in that way. You've given me faith. You've given me cause to live, as well as the want to die. But you wouldn't want that. Sacrifice, in your opinion, is idiotic and far too chivalrous for your liking. I remember you telling me that, your fingers in my hair, a soft smile on your lips. And then you had to drop your arms, you had to stop touching me, because you were so tired. And I could see it. I could see it in your eyes, in the tiredness of your smile. I could feel it, no matter how stupid that sounds. I could hear the world in the wind, calling to you. And I guess you listened. I guess you answered it.

I don't really know why I'm writing this letter. Without you and Tiana, there's no one for me to talk to, really, in the way I want to talk. You and her were all I really had. And now you're both gone, in different ways, and all I have are memories. Though, at least, she's just a phone call away.

I guess I have something to tell you, though; something to thank you for.

Exactly three quarters of a year ago from today, I was sitting in the park, on the swing where we completed number two on your list. Just sitting. Remembering. I know I'll never forget that moment, that nervousness coursing through me that I did not recognise yet, that hum that was the beginning of love. That hum that grew to a whisper to a shout to a scream. Raw and real, it was what it was. I know I'll never feel it again, not like that. I hope I find something like it, though, someday. You'd want that for me, I think. You'd have smiled and told me to get out of this house I don't belong in and to find somewhere I do belong. You'd have looked at me on that swing, and you would have told me to stop being sad about something I cannot fix, and then you'd have told me to go someplace where there are people who care about me. But it ends up I didn't have to go anywhere. Because they came to me.

I was sitting on the swing, and I heard the clink of a chain, footsteps crunching on the bark. And when I looked up and to the side, I saw him, sitting there. It was strange, because I never thought he would be there. Never thought that he, of all people, would seek me out. In the tight line of his lips I saw his anger, the memory of bad words between us, screamed in the hospital hallway. But in his eyes, all there was was sadness, then. And I realised that he missed you just as much as I do. Maybe more.

There was just the two of us in the empty park. There was a flutter of wings, and we watched as two crows squabbled over a McDonalds burger wrapper. And then he spoke.

"Do you want to see a movie or something?" he asked.

I looked at him for a moment, incredulous. And then I nodded. And when he kicked at the ground and then stood, I followed him.

We still do things like that. Stupid things. I'm teaching him to drive manual. He kind of sucks at it, but he's getting better. We watch movies and listen to silence in places we remember you. Once, we went to your house. I helped him pack all of his clothes into boxes, taking everything that was his from your wardrobe one at a time, til all that remained was your clothes, things you either never had the chance to wear or outright hated, because your mother bought it for you and most of it was pink. I found my jumper, the one I leant you so long ago. I left it there, for you.

Sometimes, we talk. We share memories of you. And we talk about other things. A few days ago, I laughed for the first time in months, because of something he said, some shared experience. And he looked at me for a moment, and then he laughed, too.

We've grown close, Marc and I. And sometimes I feel like I am stealing something from you, but you are gone and there is only us left. At first, I didn't understand why you loved him so much. I thought he was a decent guy, that's it. But now I get it. Now I know why you loved him so much. And that's why I need to thank you.

You, unwittingly, un-livingly, gave me a friend. You found me someone who I know I'll keep with me for the rest of my life, no matter what happens. Someone who is more than a friend. Someone who is like a brother to me. Tom is that, for me, too, and Olivia is another sister to me. I don't know what I'd do without all of them. But that isn't what I wanted to talk about, just yet. I wanted to talk about you, and what you taught me.

Maybe, in a while, some distant day in the future, I'll find someone I love, in a different way from the way I loved you, and maybe we'll get married. And maybe I'll write you another letter, then, because I know I'll never forget what you did. Because I'll remember every day and every time I see him. Because he'll be standing there with that small grin that is starting to come back, that smile that left with you, and he will watch me marry a girl who I love enough to want to spend the rest of my life with.

And by his side will be Olivia. I don't know if she and Tom will still be together, but at the moment, my mental image has a large, diamond engagement ring on her finger, and Tom's hand on her waist, and they are looking at each other in the same way that they have been lately: as if they can speak to each other with their eyes; as if they are guilty for finding this amazingly spectacular thing when you are gone; as if they are struck by how wonderfully sad it is, that you can't see it. As if they are in love.

I guess I should thank you for them, too. I can't speak with them like I speak with Marc, honest and earnest and raw, completely unfiltered, but we're getting there.

I went to see your parents yesterday. They'll never be the same as they used to be, but they're getting better. Holding each other together. Tatiana is helping them. I can tell that they're trying to pick up the pieces, and shoving them into place when they won't fit, and it makes me smile a little, because it is amazing to see that losing you has made us all sad, but it has also made us stronger. Better people. You have brought us together. And I don't think any one person in existence could have accomplished that but you.

You were amazing, Sylva. You are amazing, the most amazing person I have ever met in my entire life. I love you. I haven't stopped now, and I never will, but I need you to understand that I'm going to put that love away, for now. Some place safe and close. I think you'll understand why. That's one of the reasons that I love you.

I don't really know how to stop talking to you. I just want to keep on writing, on and on, until the world stops spinning. But it has to end, so I'll finish with this:

My Bucket List

1. Finish my degree in engineering. I've always wanted to do this, or something like it, I think I was just scared to realise it. Marc helped me find it, in the end. He went snooping in my car, and broke open the centre console. It turns out there were some building plans in there. I never realised how interesting all of those calculations could be.

2. Get a job. I'll need money for what I have planned.

3. Move out of Greg's, and move into the apartment that Marc and Tom are planning to buy. I assume Olivia will be there, too, whenever she gets the chance.

4. Buy a car. Something less shitty than the one I have, but not too new. Something that I can make mine. Something that doesn't leave me owing anyone anything.

5. Fall in love. I want to meet someone who makes my heart race and my palms clammy. I want to meet someone who makes me nervous and puts me in my place, who reminds me of who I am when I find it so easy to forget. I want to meet someone who will teach me things. That is something I learnt from you, Syl: the best people teach us things. And I need that sorely in my life.

6. Cut my hair. I haven't done it in a while, but I will soon: it's annoying and in my face, and I don't know how I dealt with it before. Besides, Olivia keeps on telling me to. She's booked us in for tomorrow. Apparently, Marcus and I are getting matching haircuts to complete what she calls the 'twin illusion'. I don't know what it is, and I don't care. I need to cut it. I'm done hiding.

There. That is my list. Not as epic as yours, but I can always go to the zoo. I would cross off number six tomorrow, but I can't: when I'm done, I'm sealing this letter away for good. There is an odd business that's opened up around the corner, and they specialise in making hourglasses, customised for whoever wants one. They're new and strange, and I'll most likely be their only customer ever, but they put anything you want in the glass. I plan on putting this letter through the centre, for the sand to run through. It will remind me of you, and that castle we built in the park. And it will remind me that life is short, and that, no matter how cliché, I need to hold onto it with both hands and do my best to make it count.

So, I guess this is goodbye, for now. Still missing you more than ever, but I won't fall apart. Plus, Marc won't let me. I promise.

Love always, Lance.

I wear it every day, Syl. I miss you. Olivia (your Olive). Xx

You forgot to tell me that I'm an Adonis. But I forgive you. Thanks for talking to me, Syl, even when you're not physically here. Love Tom.

Syl, I really don't see the need for an excessive amount of pink, feathered pens. When I did it, it was funny, but when you repeat it.... Hell, it's still funny. I love you, Syl. Thanks for Lance, too. He's a little broken, but then, aren't we all? Marcus.

We love you, infinity, Syl. All of us. And we'll never forget you. You're inside of us, tattooed on our souls, as well as our fingers (did I tell you about that? Oh well. You know everything; you always did).

My letter was sort of hijacked by those guys, but I don't mind, not really, even though I sort of yelled at them. They laughed at me. I guess you weren't the only one who was used to me, who could put me in my place. They can, too. It's good, because that is something I sorely need.

Lance.