Dear Patrick
Letter Two
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Dear Patrick,
Pat, I'm trying to give you your space, I really am, but you're killing me. At least write back, tell me you're okay. Come on, you've got to care about me enough to tell me you're doing okay. You're mom's a wreck, by the way. She's really hurting, Patrick. She didn't do anything to you buddy- you owe it to her to tell her you're okay. That's all she even wants to hear- that her baby boy is safe. Come on, Pat, you're her only son. Free her from the heartache, I feel like something bad is going to happen real soon. Patrick, really you're scaring the crap out of me, man. When you didn't reply to that last letter I wrote you, I took my car and came looking for you. My GPS couldn't find your address, it's not even listed on the Internet. I don't get how you're doing this Pat or if this is even a real address, but I don't think (hope) you'd lie to me. Pat, I really miss you. How much space can I give you, its been almost a month since you left. So much has happened. Who else am I supposed to talk to, for real? Come on Patty, at least respond to me. I haven't done anything to you. You swore you'd never leave me hanging, buddy. Why the exception? You're making me think you're dead, Pat. You've never not answered me before. Please save me the sanity and just tell me you're okay, okay? Do you even remember when you swore that? I still do, so clearly. Remember we were at your dad's old work, the one he and that old guy down the block used to own together? Remember we were sitting in the office playing Sonic the Hedgehog on the computer and I kept talking to you but you were too focused to reply? And so I got annoyed and went to the front to sit alone because my best friend was preoccupied. And then you followed me, Patrick, I swear, remember? You followed me and you promised me that from then on, you'd never not respond to me because best friends don't ever, never, ever do that do best friends. We couldn't have been six at the time. I'll never forget that, I know you won't either. I know you wrote it down in that book of yours that you think I don't know about- the one you're too shy and scared to show in case it hurts your pride or your hockey-player status. I understand, though. I went and picked it up from the side of your mattress where you hid it when you left so that your parents wouldn't find it. I didn't read it, though. I promise. I respect your privacy. And I'm trying to respect that you need distance, now but come on, give me something to hold on to, Pat. Your dad, man he regrets it. He didn't mean what he said or to do what he did. But I'll stop talking to you about your parents and your family. Just talk to me, Pat. I'm worried sick.
Love,
Lana
P.S. I missed the deadline on applications for school- I'm going to have to start college next semester, if my best friend's back, of course.
Dear Patrick,
Pat, I'm trying to give you your space, I really am, but you're killing me. At least write back, tell me you're okay. Come on, you've got to care about me enough to tell me you're doing okay. You're mom's a wreck, by the way. She's really hurting, Patrick. She didn't do anything to you buddy- you owe it to her to tell her you're okay. That's all she even wants to hear- that her baby boy is safe. Come on, Pat, you're her only son. Free her from the heartache, I feel like something bad is going to happen real soon. Patrick, really you're scaring the crap out of me, man. When you didn't reply to that last letter I wrote you, I took my car and came looking for you. My GPS couldn't find your address, it's not even listed on the Internet. I don't get how you're doing this Pat or if this is even a real address, but I don't think (hope) you'd lie to me. Pat, I really miss you. How much space can I give you, its been almost a month since you left. So much has happened. Who else am I supposed to talk to, for real? Come on Patty, at least respond to me. I haven't done anything to you. You swore you'd never leave me hanging, buddy. Why the exception? You're making me think you're dead, Pat. You've never not answered me before. Please save me the sanity and just tell me you're okay, okay? Do you even remember when you swore that? I still do, so clearly. Remember we were at your dad's old work, the one he and that old guy down the block used to own together? Remember we were sitting in the office playing Sonic the Hedgehog on the computer and I kept talking to you but you were too focused to reply? And so I got annoyed and went to the front to sit alone because my best friend was preoccupied. And then you followed me, Patrick, I swear, remember? You followed me and you promised me that from then on, you'd never not respond to me because best friends don't ever, never, ever do that do best friends. We couldn't have been six at the time. I'll never forget that, I know you won't either. I know you wrote it down in that book of yours that you think I don't know about- the one you're too shy and scared to show in case it hurts your pride or your hockey-player status. I understand, though. I went and picked it up from the side of your mattress where you hid it when you left so that your parents wouldn't find it. I didn't read it, though. I promise. I respect your privacy. And I'm trying to respect that you need distance, now but come on, give me something to hold on to, Pat. Your dad, man he regrets it. He didn't mean what he said or to do what he did. But I'll stop talking to you about your parents and your family. Just talk to me, Pat. I'm worried sick.
Love,
Lana
P.S. I missed the deadline on applications for school- I'm going to have to start college next semester, if my best friend's back, of course.
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