Status: And it Has Begun
Beth's Letters
4
This time when my mother slid the small white envelope under my door I was prepared. I already knew what it was, who it was from. I didn't normally get much mail.
I hesitantly walked over, picked it up from the wood floor, and brought it back to my desk. I sat in my chair and stared at the envelope for a few minutes. Finally, I slid my index finger underneath the top flap and tore the letter open. Gingerly, I pulled the folded white paper from the envelope and opened it. I was presented with more of Bethany's handwriting.
I read the whole letter, not shedding a single tear. No, this letter did not make me sad or nostalgic. This letter made me angry.
She wrote this letter before she'd decided. She knew what she wanted, but she hadn't yet said to herself, "Yes, this is what I'll do." She still had time.
The worst part about this letter is that this is exactly what she should have told me before she took her own life. I would have come back, left New York, like I already have.
After the funeral, I couldn't bring myself to go back. I had all of my things shipped home and I began attending community college, majoring in art.
If she'd just told me, I could have saved her life. I feel no sympathy for her, not anymore. She was selfish. Didn't she even think about what this would do to her family? What it would do to me? I'd lost my best friend of ten years! Didn't she stop to think about how devastated I would be? No; she was selfish.
And the way she talks about her. She never told me, not once, how bad she hurt her. Not once. Every time I would ask about it, she would just say, "Oh, I'm fine. No big deal." I never quite believed her, but still, she insisted. What could I have done about it?
Lastly, she talks about Jonathan. How could she? Jonathan was the one thing we'd ever fought about. After fighting for what seemed like ages, we both decided we would be done with him; that our friendship was more important than some guy. Apparently she regretted that.
She says that I should have him, but I no longer want him. I didn't know if I still loved him, like she seemed to suspect, but I was not willing to find out. "Call him," she wrote. "Be happy with him." I would do no such thing. Not any time soon, anyway. I had to think. I had to clear my head. This was all becoming too much for me to handle, getting too weird.
She said she wanted me to be happy. How could she even think it could be possible, without her? She didn't think. She didn't really care. She was selfish.
I hesitantly walked over, picked it up from the wood floor, and brought it back to my desk. I sat in my chair and stared at the envelope for a few minutes. Finally, I slid my index finger underneath the top flap and tore the letter open. Gingerly, I pulled the folded white paper from the envelope and opened it. I was presented with more of Bethany's handwriting.
I read the whole letter, not shedding a single tear. No, this letter did not make me sad or nostalgic. This letter made me angry.
She wrote this letter before she'd decided. She knew what she wanted, but she hadn't yet said to herself, "Yes, this is what I'll do." She still had time.
The worst part about this letter is that this is exactly what she should have told me before she took her own life. I would have come back, left New York, like I already have.
After the funeral, I couldn't bring myself to go back. I had all of my things shipped home and I began attending community college, majoring in art.
If she'd just told me, I could have saved her life. I feel no sympathy for her, not anymore. She was selfish. Didn't she even think about what this would do to her family? What it would do to me? I'd lost my best friend of ten years! Didn't she stop to think about how devastated I would be? No; she was selfish.
And the way she talks about her. She never told me, not once, how bad she hurt her. Not once. Every time I would ask about it, she would just say, "Oh, I'm fine. No big deal." I never quite believed her, but still, she insisted. What could I have done about it?
Lastly, she talks about Jonathan. How could she? Jonathan was the one thing we'd ever fought about. After fighting for what seemed like ages, we both decided we would be done with him; that our friendship was more important than some guy. Apparently she regretted that.
She says that I should have him, but I no longer want him. I didn't know if I still loved him, like she seemed to suspect, but I was not willing to find out. "Call him," she wrote. "Be happy with him." I would do no such thing. Not any time soon, anyway. I had to think. I had to clear my head. This was all becoming too much for me to handle, getting too weird.
She said she wanted me to be happy. How could she even think it could be possible, without her? She didn't think. She didn't really care. She was selfish.