Heroes Exist (I'm Just Not One of Them)
TWENTY-FIVE
Got a letter in the mail today. Which in and of itself isn’t too much of a shocker, for obvious reasons, but, well…
Dear Mr. Sidney Delacroix,
As I write this, it’s been twenty-four days since tragedy befell our city.
Never in my seventeen years have I ever had the misfortune of experiencing disaster. To great ironic effect, my first time, as it were, happened to be the largest tragedy of the decade.
When the first bomb went off, I ran in the opposite direction, and got caught in a second blast. I could sit here with you and play “Shoulda Woulda Coulda” but I won’t. The fact is, I suddenly found myself staring Death in the face.
I’m a strong woman, but no one is strong enough to fight back that crushing blackness.
My thoughts went a little like this:
“Oh God, that’s a lot of blood. Oh my God, I can’t feel my legs. I want my mommy. Where’s Caleb? Someone please help me!”
And so on and so on. I’m sure you understand what I mean.
You may not remember me very well, or even at all, it was a hectic day after all, but I remember you very clearly. You saved my life.
You lifted rubble off my destroyed legs and carried me out of the building. Before the EMTs grabbed me, I saw you run right back in.
You are the sole reason I am alive right now, and the reason why my mother doesn’t have to bury her oldest child. I may never run again but my dreams and aspirations are still very much alive. Thanks to you, I have the chance to live my life, and that means the world to me.
I write you this because I hear and see too many ignorant, cruel people.
I’m sorry about the concert. I’m sorry for the letters. I’m sorry that humanity is a hateful and self-absorbed race.
I don’t even know if you’ll read all of this, or if you’ve received too many death threats to dare open your mail, but if you do, please never forget that you have made a positive difference in this world, especially for me.
Sincerely,
Cassidy Reede
...
You understand my confusion now, don’t you?
Usually their comments and attacks are obviously passive-aggressive. This Cassidy girl sounds... Genuine. And hauntingly familiar.
(--an all too pale face contorted in pain, framed by hair so matted with blood it’s turned red--)
It leaves me with an odd feeling, warm and almost proud, even if she’s just an expert liar and setting me up to fail.
Almost makes me want to write her back.
She seems nice.
It might be weird to write her back, but she opened the path of communication. I’ll just barge right on in. (With a few glasses of liquid courage to fortify my resolve.)
I sit myself down at my desk, pen in hand and paper splayed out encouragingly, but the words are less helpful.
Dear Ms Reede,
No, no, that’s bad.
Dear Ms. Cassidy Reede,
Thank you for your letter.
Okay, good job buddy. Now let’s see if we can get out of the sea of banal pleasantries.
It was a welcome change to the usual correspondence.
Oh hell no. That is beyond horrible. What are you thinking? I take another swig of whiskey.
I appreciate you taking the time to write me a letter. Your words mean a great deal. However, you have nothing to apologize for, Cassidy. I deserved it.
No, wait. That might just be the exact opposite of what she’d like to hear. I steal two more burning swallows.
You are a remarkable young lady and a wonderful human being. It is a comfort to hear that you have no plans of letting a silly thing like a terrorist attack stop you. I can only imagine what it would take to truly hinder you.
Smiley face, or no smiley face? No, you stupid, that’s creepy. I kill the last few dredges of the bottle and start on a second one. Ah, the perks of having a booze stash hidden in your room.
What do you plan on doing with your life?
Careful there, you’re skirting creeper territory, in more than a few respects.
What are your hopes and dreams, if even a bomb couldn’t shake them?
Marginally better. I celebrate with three sloppy gulps.
Good God though, you are horrible at talking to people.
I appreciate
Your words mean
I start to drain the bottle as quickly as I can manage, relishing the fiery burn of each swallow of liquid glass.
I can’t thank you enugh
Youre letter
Thankso much ms Cassedy
Oh dear, there goes my penmanship.
Thnk you gain fro the kind wrods Mirs. Cassidiy.
God my head is swimming.
Lovely.
I rememebr u, reel well to. Nasty. Thoght u woldnt makeit so its real good to heer ur alive an kiking. Metafor Metephro Metaphorically speakign of corse.
Oh wow, good job. I don’t even think half of that was in English.
Maybe this wasn’t the brightest idea.
Gon red this 2morro
Nothing says “Hero” like drunken snail mail.
Sinceerly
Sindey
Sindey? SINDEY? Okay. Time to put away the booze.
SIDNEY DELACROIX
With the world spinning the way it is, walking seems like a bad idea, but only marginally worse than writing a letter while blindingly drunk.
I stand while the floor rolls underneath like the tide and collapse to the ground, sprawling indolently on the carpet.
Well shit.
Whatever. I’ve slept in worse places.
Dear Mr. Sidney Delacroix,
As I write this, it’s been twenty-four days since tragedy befell our city.
Never in my seventeen years have I ever had the misfortune of experiencing disaster. To great ironic effect, my first time, as it were, happened to be the largest tragedy of the decade.
When the first bomb went off, I ran in the opposite direction, and got caught in a second blast. I could sit here with you and play “Shoulda Woulda Coulda” but I won’t. The fact is, I suddenly found myself staring Death in the face.
I’m a strong woman, but no one is strong enough to fight back that crushing blackness.
My thoughts went a little like this:
“Oh God, that’s a lot of blood. Oh my God, I can’t feel my legs. I want my mommy. Where’s Caleb? Someone please help me!”
And so on and so on. I’m sure you understand what I mean.
You may not remember me very well, or even at all, it was a hectic day after all, but I remember you very clearly. You saved my life.
You lifted rubble off my destroyed legs and carried me out of the building. Before the EMTs grabbed me, I saw you run right back in.
You are the sole reason I am alive right now, and the reason why my mother doesn’t have to bury her oldest child. I may never run again but my dreams and aspirations are still very much alive. Thanks to you, I have the chance to live my life, and that means the world to me.
I write you this because I hear and see too many ignorant, cruel people.
I’m sorry about the concert. I’m sorry for the letters. I’m sorry that humanity is a hateful and self-absorbed race.
I don’t even know if you’ll read all of this, or if you’ve received too many death threats to dare open your mail, but if you do, please never forget that you have made a positive difference in this world, especially for me.
Sincerely,
Cassidy Reede
...
You understand my confusion now, don’t you?
Usually their comments and attacks are obviously passive-aggressive. This Cassidy girl sounds... Genuine. And hauntingly familiar.
(--an all too pale face contorted in pain, framed by hair so matted with blood it’s turned red--)
It leaves me with an odd feeling, warm and almost proud, even if she’s just an expert liar and setting me up to fail.
Almost makes me want to write her back.
She seems nice.
It might be weird to write her back, but she opened the path of communication. I’ll just barge right on in. (With a few glasses of liquid courage to fortify my resolve.)
I sit myself down at my desk, pen in hand and paper splayed out encouragingly, but the words are less helpful.
Dear Ms Reede,
No, no, that’s bad.
Dear Ms. Cassidy Reede,
Thank you for your letter.
Okay, good job buddy. Now let’s see if we can get out of the sea of banal pleasantries.
It was a welcome change to the usual correspondence.
Oh hell no. That is beyond horrible. What are you thinking? I take another swig of whiskey.
I appreciate you taking the time to write me a letter. Your words mean a great deal. However, you have nothing to apologize for, Cassidy. I deserved it.
No, wait. That might just be the exact opposite of what she’d like to hear. I steal two more burning swallows.
You are a remarkable young lady and a wonderful human being. It is a comfort to hear that you have no plans of letting a silly thing like a terrorist attack stop you. I can only imagine what it would take to truly hinder you.
Smiley face, or no smiley face? No, you stupid, that’s creepy. I kill the last few dredges of the bottle and start on a second one. Ah, the perks of having a booze stash hidden in your room.
What do you plan on doing with your life?
Careful there, you’re skirting creeper territory, in more than a few respects.
What are your hopes and dreams, if even a bomb couldn’t shake them?
Marginally better. I celebrate with three sloppy gulps.
Good God though, you are horrible at talking to people.
I appreciate
Your words mean
I start to drain the bottle as quickly as I can manage, relishing the fiery burn of each swallow of liquid glass.
I can’t thank you enugh
Youre letter
Thankso much ms Cassedy
Oh dear, there goes my penmanship.
Thnk you gain fro the kind wrods Mirs. Cassidiy.
God my head is swimming.
Lovely.
I rememebr u, reel well to. Nasty. Thoght u woldnt makeit so its real good to heer ur alive an kiking. Metafor Metephro Metaphorically speakign of corse.
Oh wow, good job. I don’t even think half of that was in English.
Maybe this wasn’t the brightest idea.
Gon red this 2morro
Nothing says “Hero” like drunken snail mail.
Sinceerly
Sindey
Sindey? SINDEY? Okay. Time to put away the booze.
SIDNEY DELACROIX
With the world spinning the way it is, walking seems like a bad idea, but only marginally worse than writing a letter while blindingly drunk.
I stand while the floor rolls underneath like the tide and collapse to the ground, sprawling indolently on the carpet.
Well shit.
Whatever. I’ve slept in worse places.