Dear Patrick

It'd been a month.

Since I flew out to Derek's, since Lana had left, since everything I thought I had was gone. But strangely, that night I stepped out of the shower with a sort of calm. Like the water had in some way washed off all my worries and my stress. Like I'd scrubbed off my pain. But there was no soap to remove the memories. They were carved into my conscious. Every last one.

I remembered when I'd first gotten my license. Lana was dying to buy a pair of vans so I took her to a shoe store not too far away from her house.

"I love these shoes, Patrick, they're like sneakers." She smiled.
I had peered over to her for just a second. She had extended her tan legs onto my dashboard, then resettled herself comfortably, sticking her feet outside of the open window and squirming her toes around.
"What the fuck are you doing Lana?" I had laughed
"What?" She said.
"Why are you playing with your toes like that in my mirror? I don't want your stinky ass toe smell all over my new car."
She stared at me and then pulled her legs in, "I swear to God if you don't take that back I'm gonna put them in your face and not move them until you apologize or until we get into a car accident."
"Okay, I would honestly but I can't concentrate from the stench."
"Patrick!" She threatened.
"Okay, okay," I smiled, "Your feet don't smell too terrible, I promise."
She continued to stare at me.
"Better watch that attitude Pat, I might get pissed and not go to your game tonight in my sexy new Vans."
I laughed at her. She was easy to laugh at.

***

"Lana, I'm sorry, but those have to be the ugliest shoes I've ever seen in my life. I swear, I'm not lying."
She looked up at me instantly then put her arms around the shoes, almost defensively. "Listen little boy, these shoes are not ugly."
"Lana the shoes aren't ugly but the pattern is disgusting."
"That's because you don't have style."
At that, I burst out laughing. She air-punched me and walked to the counter. "I'll kick your ass if you keep picking on my shoes."

A red Charger pulled up in my driveway. Lana loved Chargers. How funny would it be, I remember thinking, if that's Lana right there. But I pushed away the fantasy. Lana was off in Switzerland or whatever doing God knows what. I peered at the opening door and ran my fingers through my hair, waiting for whoever it was to get out. Then I jumped off my chair.

I couldn't see through the practically solid black tint on the windows but two feet dressed in a pair of the ugliest shoes I'd ever seen in my entire life plopped themselves onto the mosaic-designed tiles of my driveway.

I wanted to run down the steps and go to her but logic fought me. She's in Switzerland. Or Norway. Whatever. One of the guys probably sent a hooker to my house to cheer me up. But they don't get it. It's just not like that anymore. Sex isn't sex unless you're having it with someone that means something to you.

I stook up, though, out of a sort of awkward respect for whoever was approaching my home uninvited. And then I saw her. Her and her curly hair and her honey eyes. She was wearing the most beautiful smile I'd seen her wear in so long. And God was it beautiful.

I walked so quickly over to her. I got to her car before she'd had the chance to get her phone off of charge and come out. She turned and our eyes met and it felt unreal. Unreal. Not the skimpy meaning of the word- but the pure, deep definition. It felt like nothing and everything all at the same time. It felt fake, like a prank. Like someone had played some sort of fucked up prank on me. But it wasn't man. I pulled her in for a hug.

I could spend the rest of my life trying to describe the way I felt and it wouldn't come remotely close.

When we parted, I smiled at her. A raw, real, absolutely heart-filled smile. "You could've told me you were coming, I would've covered the whole fucking house with roses."

She laughed. "That's so tacky. When are you gonna learn to have some style?"

I peered down at her shoes and reverted my sight back to her, raising my eyebrow.

She giggled shyly. "Those were some good times."

"Let's make some more then."

She nodded softly in approval. I leaned over her to close the door. She wrapped her arms around my waist and we turned, heading for my porch. But we were interrupted by a bright pair of lights and screeching noise of slamming breaks. A black Ram 1500 had pulled up into the driveway, its headlights like the eyes of a demon. I pulled Lana back behind me when the passenger door opened

God forbid it ever ended.

Notes