Letter to J (with plot embellishment)

This is what I'm doing: I'm walking around on a path in a wooded area. I'm not talking the black forests of Europe, or a National Park full of red wood trees. It's not a nature preserve in the Dakotas or anything. To make this clear and concise and short and sweet I will just tell you. I'll tell you because this is a letter that's supposed to get you started. To get you started well on your way to loving me from afar. And while I am not writing this from the woods, it's a setting that will frame the letter. If I were writing from the woods this late in the night I would have surely been eaten by any or all number of the creatures that call this inhabitance a home. "Kill the invader!" they will scream in unison and in nature speak. I'm letting my imagination get carried away with me but I'm a desperate alien in this unknown land. I'm still thinking of the ant parade numbering in the 1,000's crawling in and around all orifice my body owns. Then plants growing at a rate which is extreme tying me in knots not unlike a killing in the film Evil Dead.

All that to say, that's how desperate I am to write this letter to you. I've expatriated to the dark wilderness of my childhood to wander and collect my thoughts. You've never seen this place before but if you start at my parents back door off the back porch and head straight west you'll meet my high school alma mater. From there head to the north of the school to an overgrown patch of land meant for scientific observation by teens and teachers. Another slight right and you will find the area of second generation growth forest that was laid aside for small hikes and cross country running practice. When I was 18 I was suckered into running here. By the promises of another friend of good times on school bus trips and runs just her and I. Well, that never happened and I was suckered good.

However, now this is the woods I chose to gather all my gumption and outline and draft and throw away several and several more letters just to say goodbye. I have every manner of good luck charm in my coat pockets and on my person. I have dyed rabbit's feet from the county fair on keychains. I have a wish bone from Thanksgiving. I have a shiny new penny, my lucky socks, my favorite watch, my lucky hat, a necklace made of garlic, and what seems like 3 lbs of gold plated or cheap metal crosses and crucifixes in my back pocket. That could be another reason I did not write this letter in the actual forest. No way to actually sit on a log! Too many crosses in my back pocket! I'd like to paint a picture for you that's as grandiose as the nose on your face or the bones in your cheeks, but the mood is closely guarded by her shroud of solitary cloud cover. But I will say the woods is chilly for it being summer.

Baby, I just realized that in my description I may have lost the perfect words for this letter. But the dramatic framing of this letter and the dramatic flair by which I charged into this place should be enough to really let you know the meaningfulness that you are in my life. Somehow the trees remind me of how you would bend but never break in front of me. The way they continually sway with the summer wind remind me of that. Broken limbs and tree branches on the ground remind me of a theory I had about how you may break behind close doors. When absolutely no one was around to hear these trees fall. Since I was never around to hear them fall, I don't know if they ever made a sound. Similarly I was never around when your branches fell. Or when you let your beautiful leaves down, darling.

If anyone else should read this some day they should know one or a few things. This isn't a classic love 'em and leave 'em tale. Honey, if you show this letter to anyone else I hope you'll explain that. Explain that we never loved, but just the same the death of love in our friendship is just as deafening as sobs from a broken lover. My hope, baby is that you can tell the tale of a period of your life where we never fully expressed ourselves to each other. Just like a transplanted bloom of bush we stayed the same and we only grew as much as our plot allowed. Call it natural self control, call it what you will.

Honey, here's a bad analogy for us, but we were gold fish in a small bowl in this small town. Our bodies grew as much as the tank could handle. Then for some reason we stopped. We stopped after the night we sat on the floor in the kitchen and had those beers. Now, all I can really do is write down in this letter that I don't necessarily regret not expressing myself. I probably know perfectly well that all my to-do would have been taken in your perfect stride and not echoed. You did so much for this dud. I feel like I did nothing of equal value for you. That's what I really regret. I don't really have any palpable skill or grown up love to give you. I'm sorry. I truly am sorry for never quite repaying you for all that you did for me. If I had money and if you would except my money I would pay you payments like I pay my student loans. Each month I would dutifully send you a check (and not a minimum payment like the payments I pay to my loans).

I don't know. I guess my painful obsession will be to have never really said this to you. Instead of being a man or taking it on the chin I chickened out, ran into the woods and imagined every outcome possible if we had ever had this conversation. Letters are good though, it's better than saying nothing at all. Maybe I will just buy one of those blinking arrow signs on the side of the road. I will take it over to your garden and sink it in the mud. Then when it's good and anchored I'll get those little black plastic letters and spell out what's in my heart. Just something blaring and obvious, quick and to the point. A slogan won't do it justice. Only talking to you face to face would have really left me satisfied. I don't think I can now. You're leaving in 7 days and those days I know have plans. You always have plans, so I know you do. Don't say you don't. But you would.

I'll leave you with this haunting quote from Emily Dickinson: "Dwell in possibility". Sometimes it rings in my ears and in my brain. I will probably always feel that way about this. Not telling you any of this. I know that quote is meant as something positive, but it has continually seemed to fill me with dread. If you always dwell in possibility you will never be happy where you are or happy with who/what you are. You'll always see reason to change. Don't get me wrong, baby. I don't dislike self improvement and sharpening of the mind. But "my" possibility the one of me actually confessing...exists no longer. So when I look this situation in the future, and the possibility that has turned into a short coming I might feel a pain. Acceptance of destiny is hard, and I don't blame either of us. This was just the way it was supposed to be. If you want, you should give me your address and I'll send you a rabbit's foot. We all need a little luck now and again.