A Letter to a Friend

Hey, 

I had a dream the other morning where we met once again on a college campus between classes. You were wearing one of your favorite hats and I could see the confidence and peace radiating out from you. We reintroduced ourselves to each other the way old friends do, tentatively at first, then more comfortably as we remembered what we’d once loved about each other. I finally told you what I should have told you all those years ago. And for some reason I couldn’t fathom, not even in the dream, you forgave me. It shocked me so much, it jolted me out of the dream. 

The moment hung heavy when I woke up in a house you’d never visited. How many years have passed now? How many pieces of you have I hidden on the bookshelves of this house, left to gather dust? How many Google Docs and pictures have I filed away from myself to avoid the memories? And there’s no way back now. There never will be. 

I burned all the bridges in my anger back then. But it wasn’t anger, was it? It was grief. I wasn’t ready and I didn’t understand and I’ll never forgive myself for what I let happen. An argument gone too far. An anger under the argument I couldn’t yet face. Grief and hopelessness I couldn’t yet name. I hope that wherever you are, you know that. I explained it to you in the dream, but I don’t possess the power to explain it elsewhere. How could I? 

I found the book you’d gifted me so long ago on my shelf the other day while I was hunting for YA fiction to hand down to my daughter. Inside the cover was the card you’d written me to go along with the book. Do you remember reading to her when she was little? She kept the fur blanket from your house for the longest time until I finally threw it out because it hurt too much to look at. 

Maybe that’s why you were on my mind. That and the fact that somehow I’m in the doctoral program without you. I wouldn’t have gone to graduate school at all had I not met you. But you know that. You should be here with me. There’s nobody for me to argue with. Or go out to the bar for philosophical talks with. Or share writing with. Not the way I could with you, at least. 

Thank you for coming to visit me. I know I messed up. I didn’t deserve your grace, even in the form of a dream. But you’re welcome to haunt me anytime you want. I’ll make sure to dust off the relics of our past life a little more often. 

Yours, 

Shannon