moved aside the rolled-up posters of Death Cab for Cutie, Weezer, and Erik Jones (oh, the irony) and grabbed out my box of notes from the top shelf.
Years of notes, worn from folding and rereading time and time again. These notes had been everything. Holding them transported me to my childhood.
I took the box and dumped them out. The new letter sat untouched to the side.
I opened random notes and read them, the critiques and the meaning behind them. That handwriting. Of course. Of course it was Erik. My eyes burned as I madly sifted through one after the other. All those years Roddy lied to me. So much time spent trusting him. I wouldn’t be mad at myself for trusting him, but I was sad about the time wasted. Why hadn’t Erik just told me?
Then again, it seems so obvious now. How could I think anything else? The handwriting was the same as it was now. I had been lying to myself. Holding back in fear. But something happened as I read the notes. I understood something more. It was never the notes. It was what they represented. The innocence. My youth was over as quickly as it began. I took that from myself.
With each note I understood that more and more. These notes represented a life lost. They represented that warm, hopeful thrill that only being young and having the whole future ahead of you could give. It was that bubbling sensation in my chest that dreamed big. It was the hope and love of the future.
It wasn’t really about the person who wrote them.
These notes represented a future full of hope and I’d held on to them like they could change my past. But I couldn’t change my past. I owned it. I was still me. I was still loved. I was still a person with a life ahead of her.
I mourned the girl that got these notes, but I had to let her go. She was gone. I needed to live the life I had now. I had held on, hoping they would help me feel that zest for life again, thinking, “if I just met the right person …” But she was right here all along. I was here all along.
It was time to move on.
I started a fire in the fireplace. Once it burned bright and hot, I held the notes above them. They were holding me back and I was done being afraid.
I pulled my hand back.
Okay, I wasn’t going to burn them. I was still sentimental at heart. The message had sunk in. No point in burning them.
I put the shoebox away and took out the new letter.
Dear Kim…
I closed my eyes and gripped it to my chest. I had made a choice before I finished reading the letter. I was done choosing fear. I was going out on a limb. I was choosing possible rejection. I was ready to lean into the fear and jump anyway.
“What exactly am I seeing here?” Gretchen’s voice came from the doorway.
I dropped the letter I’d been sniffing. “I’m checking for structural integrity.”
“Because it looks like you’re snorting that piece of paper.”
“She was definitely sniffing it.” Suzie appeared behind her.
“What are y’all doing here?” I scooted the letter under my leg.
“We came to check on you,” Suzie said in a soothing voice.
“You’ve been real weird since you’ve been back,” Gretchen said.
“I’m coping. Actually, I’m okay. I really am. Just a little sad is all.”
Gretch nodded. Suzie squeezed my hand.
“I understand that I have been hiding in life. I get that now. But how does someone just change that?” I asked, glancing between the two of them.
“You take it one day at a time. Think about what you want.”
“I want to move forward,” I said. “I want to know how to do that. I’ve been afraid of hurting people for so long. How do I act just for me without taking from others?”
“Maybe try thinking about things this way: It’s not what you are taking away from others, but what you have to offer,” Suzie said. “I never thought I was anything more than a stripper. Then I realized that my dancing and showing people how to feel good in their bodies was something I could give. Happiness is one of those things that only gets bigger the more you give out.”
I smiled at her because she really was amazing when she danced. And Gretchen was so full of life she turned heads wherever she went. She