Dear You: Sincerely, Me

Ann set her lunch down on her desk in her empty classroom with a stack of Journalism articles on her right and a letter on her left. She either had to grade the articles, which she'd been putting off, or read the letter. She chose the latter.

Dear Dad,

I should hate you. You left us. Mom was a wreck without you. I was only 15 when you weren't there anymore. I watched as you packed your bag, Mom sobbing in the laundry room down the hall. I put my little brother to bed and sang him to sleep. I assured him life will be okay. I sang him that Marley song you liked. He smiled at me and told me that he loved me before falling asleep, rolling onto his side. I turned on his nightlights, not wanting to leave the door open. I lay in her bed, also not wanting to leave him alone. The sounds of Mom's cries and the slamming of drawers and doors was my lullaby.

My little sister shook me awake and told me you were gone. I smoothed her curls and told her to join us. She climed up with me and your son, laying between us. I sang them back to sleep and listened to the sound of the washer running. You know Mom's upset when the washer's running before 12. She likes hanging the laundry on the line in the afternoon sun. I knew where you are, where you went that night. You crashed at your affair's house, in her bed. I know you did. You picked me up from piano smelling like her. But I also know by the guilty look in your blue eyes, the same blue eyes I have.

I should hate you, for what you did to our familt. You broke Mom. My brother and sister don't rememewber much about you, which I'm thankful for. But me, I don't hate you. I don't hate you for the bruises. I don't hate you for the crying or the split. I don't. I should... but I don't.

You have a new family. A new wife. And a new daughter. You replaced us. You didn't love us anymore. You wanted the new model, the old version tossed into the garbage.

I should hate you.
But I don't.
I want to.
But I can't.

Your Child,
The Kid You Left

She frowned and put the letter back in the folder, pulling her lunch closer to her and ate the pathetic salad that she'd grabbed from the lunch hall. It was nothing but browned lettuce and a few mushy carrots. She ate her lunch in complete silence while she thought of her students, the ones giving her these letters. All of them, they didn't have a single good thing to say yet. And that's what frightened her the most.