Dear Olive

It was a short distance to Olive's house. I remembered I'd walked there the last time I'd seen it. It was the day that I brought her the letter.

I still remembered every word I wrote to her. I also remembered every word she wrote back to me. She was now telling me they were all lies.

So I was I supposed to trust an admitted liar? I guess it boils down to my belief that people can do the wrong thing for the right reasons. Olive meant to hurt me, but she also meant to protect me.

Didn't motive count for something? My brain tried to hammer out exactly how I was feeling, but that was a lost cause. Crumpled in Olive's passenger seat, I had a difficult enough time staying conscious.

My vision started turning grey again. Dark spots formed on the edge of my eyesight like thunderclouds and the Vicodin was kicking in hard. It made me feel an interesting combination of loopy and sick to my stomach. I was starting to think that I might vomit all over Olive's clean little car.

It would serve her right, the bitch, my drug addled brain decided roughly as my heavy eyelids drooped.

Don't be a fucking idiot, the more reasonable part of my brain hissed back. You loved her in every way a hormonal teenage boy could. You worshiped every freckle on her skin and thought it was adorable that she was scared of the dark. You sent her messages every morning and pretended to like it when she baked. You walked with her and took trips to the countryside because she loved wide open spaces. She was your first love, first fuck, first heartbreak. You never got over her. She never wanted to lose you. The real you though, not the prick you became. No matter what she said or did it was your choice to change. You didn't want to feel anything of be anyone real anymore. What if you have the chance to take it back?

...

"Hello, Charlie," My Nan said. She was sitting on the lumpy couch that I'd already taken to the dump with a cat in her lap.

"When did we get a cat?" I asked because it was the first stupid thing that came to my mind.

"Oh, Missy died before you came to live with me, sweetheart," Nan replied calmly.

"Died," I repeated as I looked around the living room. Everything I spent days boxing was all out again. Nan was nursing a cup of coffee and it seemed like it was mid afternoon.

"Yes," she said. "Why don't you have a seat. You're here to
stay this time. Maybe I can fix you something to drink? I'm so very happy to see you.You've seen what it's like out there now. It's painful beyond words, but they trick you into not feeling it."

"Why?" I asked simply.

Nan tapped the side of her head with her pointer finger and said, "It's all about control. If they turn us into good little citizens without passions or desires we can never rise up. We will never ask for or want anything more. We will never dare to feel important. My life wasn't perfect, but it meant something. I meant something to my family and my friends."

"I made a mistake didn't I? I shouldn't have gone to them," I said more to myself then to her.

Nan looked at me with sympathy swimming in her eyes and said, "They make it seem like it's the ultimate version of life. They sell it like an exclusive ticket to a desert island. Once you realize your mistake the boat is too far away to call for help."

"Olive is trying to help me," I insisted as she took a long drink of coffee.

She contemplated the cup for a few seconds after and said, "Charlie, you know it's too late for that."