I don’t know if I will have the time to write any more letters because I might be too busy trying to participate. So if this does end up being the last letter, I just want you to know that I was in a bad place before I started high school, and you helped me. Even if you didn’t know what I was talking about or know someone who’s gone through it, you made me not feel alone. Because I know there are people who say all these things don’t happen. And there are people who forget what it’s like to be 16 when they turn 17. I know these will all be stories someday. And our pictures will become old photographs. We’ll all become somebody’s mom or dad. But right now these moments are not stories. This is happening. I am here and I am looking at her. And she is so beautiful. I can see it. This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive, and you stand up and see the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder. And you’re listening to that song and that drive with the people you love most in this world. And in this moment I swear, we are infinite.
My doctor said we can’t choose where we come from but we can choose where we go from there. I know it’s not all the answers but it was enough to start putting these pieces together.
Candice, I killed Aunt Helen, didn’t I? She died getting my birthday present, so I guess I killed her, right? I tried to stop thinking that, but I can’t. She keeps driving away and dying and I can’t stop her. Am I crazy, Candace?
Call the police and send them to my house!
No, Charlie, listen to me. Mom and Dad are going to be home with Chris any second.
What if I wanted her to die, Candace?
I know who you are, Sam. I know I’m quiet… and, and I know I should speak more. But if you knew the things that were in my head most of the time, you’d know what it really meant. How, how much we’re alike, and how we’ve been through the same things… and you’re not small. You’re beautiful.
Patrick never likes to be serious, so it took me a while to get what happened. When he was a junior, Patrick started seeing Brad on the weekends in secret. I guess it was hard, too, because Brad had to get drunk every time they fooled around. Then Monday in school Brad would say, ‘Man, I was so wasted. I don’t remember a thing.’ This went on for seven months. When they finally did it Brad said he loved Patrick and then he started to cry. No matter what Patrick did, Brad kept saying that his dad would kill him and saying he was going to hell. Patrick was eventually able to help Brad get sober. I asked Patrick if he felt sad that he still had to keep it a secret, and he said no. Because at least now Brad doesn’t have to get drunk to love him.
Dear Friend. I am writing to you because she said you listen and understand and didn’t try to sleep with that person at that party even though you could have. Please don’t try to figure out who I am. I don’t want you to do that. I just need to know that people like you exist. Like if you met me you wouldn’t think I was the weird kid who spent time in the hospital. And I wouldn’t make you nervous. I hope it’s okay for me to think that. You see, I haven’t really talked to anyone outside of my family all summer. But tomorrow is my first day of high school ever, and I need to turn things around. So I have a plan. As I enter the school for the first time, I will visualize what it would be like on the last day of my senior year. Unfortunately I counted, and that’s one thousand three hundred and eighty-five days.
