When Zach drops me off at home, all the lights are off and the mail is still tucked in the box. I want to ignore it, but I can’t.
I find it exactly where I knew it would be, under a pile of catalogs and a few bills: another thick envelope from the county jail.
Zach’s mom’s words run through my head: There were reasons behind her survival.
Reasons.
I need to know what he has to say.
I rip open the letter.
Dear May,
I don’t understand your silence. I hope you’re getting these letters. Can you please come visit me? That’s all I want, May. To hear your voice. To see your face. It’s so lonely in here—the only thing that keeps me going is the thought of seeing you again.
The last time I saw you, that day, when I opened the closet door, you wouldn’t even look at me. Then I had to go because they were coming to get me. I never got to tell you what I needed to say.
I used to watch you during class. Math, English…you were always so nice. You were the only one who actually heard me. Do you remember that one time when I asked four goddamn people if I could borrow a pen because I had forgotten mine, and you were the only one decent enough to give me one? Everyone else lied and said they didn’t have any extra or pretended they didn’t hear me. Like I didn’t even fucking exist. But you knew I existed. You always knew.
You saw me, May. You talked to me and knew that I mattered, even when everyone else tried to pretend I didn’t. We’re better than all of them, May. They live little, shallow existences, happy in their ignorance, but we aren’t like them. I know you would have gone out with me if you could have. I totally understand why you couldn’t, especially after our conversation at that party at Adam’s house.
You were so lonely. That night when we sat outside, talking. So lonely. I understood that—I’ve always been lonely too. Know that I’m here for you, May, no matter what. Not like Miles. That guy never saw you like I do. I SEE you. I know what you want and what you need. I’m sorry he’s still out there and that he sees you all the time. He doesn’t deserve to.
Look, May. It’s been almost a year since I started writing, and I haven’t gotten any response. You have to respond. I know you think about me all the time, the way I think about you. I have something important I need to tell you. If you read my last few letters, you already know that. If you didn’t, why not? Why are you ignoring me, when we both know how much we mean to each other? Since I don’t know how else to get you to visit me here, I will say that what I need to tell you is about Jordan, and that day. Does that make you curious enough to come? I know this place is disgusting and not worthy of you, but I’m here.
I hope you come. I miss seeing you. You’re on my approved visitors list; all you need to do is show up.
Yours always,
David Ecchles
Hours later, I’m still curled into a ball on my bed with the comforter wrapped tight around me. It’s not helping to keep out the cold. The house is dark and silent like it always is.
I’m alone.
All the letters have been pulled out of their various hiding places, envelopes ripped open, pages read, and now I’m trapped on my bed, surrounded by a mountain of notebook paper with words scrawled onto them that I’ll never be able to scrub from my brain. I wish I could dig into my head and get them out, pour bleach in there to remove the stain.
I am going to be haunted by his words for the rest of my life.
I used to