Brendan

When I first saw you, I thought you were an RC at the camp. That was such a great camp. I can't wait to go back. You were taller than average, and frankly, you were so ugly I was frightened by your apprearance. You weren't an RC, though, you were just another camper, a TIPster. We didn't talk much. We said hey now and then, right? I can't even remember you. All I remember was Jon, and myself, and the high-pitched voices of girls who wrote poetry.

Then we talked.

But first, we danced.

That damn dance. I was sad, I was scared. I don't remember if I was bleeding yet. I probably was. I have to say, I'm proud of my cleverness, my inventive means of self-destruction, even during a dance. I saw Jon dancing with her. Her name doesn't matter, but it was Lizzie. They held onto each other, Jon's hands on her hips, the same way they had been on mine weeks before. I still smile when I think of that night, going to bed and still feeling his hands holding me.

I glared at them, and I shook in my flat shoes and ugly dress with the little bloodstain on the side, just above my knee. "Forget them," I thought. "Screw you, Jon. I'll show you I don't need you. I can dance with anyone I want."

That's when I saw you, Brendan. You were looking at me, and we met each other's gaze. I didn't feel butterflies, or sparks, or fireworks. Or anything. Maybe you did. I'll never know. I approached you. "Let's dance," I said. You put both hands on my waist. I drew myself up and sucked in my stomach, afraid of feeling fat and soft under your hands. I didn't know what to do. I looked around. Girls had their hands on boys' shoulders. I did the same.

We danced.

Some Greenday song was on. "You're having the time of your life." Came through the speakers. I wanted to cry. I put on a brave face. "See me, Jon? See how I'm having fun?" Brendan and I didn't make eye contact. I don't remember the song ending. It was probably awkward.

I never said goodbye to you. I spent all my time with Jon, with my roommate, by myself. I didn't care. I had used you. I didn't know that one dance would mean so much, would mean anything.

You went back home. I went back home. We were two thousand miles apart. You and I talked. You sounded so sad. Finally I told you.

"Therapy... Cutting.... Little blue pills."

You told me, too. You told me, "No, don't listen. They won't help you. Don't take your medicine. Buy yourself a razor blade. Just keep falling, falling, falling."

Brendan, I hate you, but I am so sorry for what we've done to each other. Are you even still breathing wherever you are?

I am.