Dear Vera

To: veraisverycool@gmail.com

From: mabelsyrup@gmail.com

Topic: I miss you.

Dear Vera, 

I don’t even know if you still use this email anymore, but I wanted to try. After having a depressing fit of depression and nostalgia, I want to see you again. But I know I can’t. So, I’m emailing you.  

            Here goes nothing.

I remember when we were young. We first met at our sixth-grade camp, when we were stuck in the same cabin. We were both really awkward, but after our cabin counselor forced us to talk, we got along great, You and I were basically the same person. We both were into basketball. We both wanted to grow up and be famous. We both agreed that fantasy was obviously the superior genre of books.

Now that I look back on it, we were inseparable. You were always there, even through the lows. I think that’s why I was so bummed when you moved. Well, okay, there were obviously more reasons, but I couldn’t tell my parents that. 

We’ll come back to the moving thing later. This is going to be out of the blue, but right now, I want to talk about the time at our ninth-grade dance. Just to be happy before the sadness comes around and kicks me in the throat. You know what dance I’m talking about.

  It was our first kiss. Jesus, we were so awkward. We had been talking about something really cringe outside in the school’s courtyard. I don’t remember if it was our undying disposition for Percy Jackson or our immeasurable dislike for ninth-grade boys, but we somehow got on the topic of LGBTQ+ people. Of course, both of us being weird and nerdy ninth graders were completely fine with the topic. I mean, we were kids who were into DND and read Heartstopper! How could we not be fine with it?!

But alas, that’s when I decided to come out to you as bi. You, being the wonderful being you are, came out as pan right after. 

Then, being the cringe nerd I am, decided to recreate the scene from The Owl House, when Luz tries to ask Amity to be her girlfriend. Of course, I completely failed and said something like, “You, me-” Some awkward finger guns and then, “Together?”

But you understood. You blushed as red as a tomato before pulling me into a tight hug, nearly killing me. Okay, I may be exaggerating, but I swear I was turning purple. 

After releasing me from your tight death grip, you pulled me in for a quick kiss. I don’t think you were thinking, but you still kissed me. You realized what you were doing and let go of me, and I was babbling like an idiot.

I never forgot that kiss. It was soft and light, but full of meaning. You were wearing your star dress, the one with the blue and white and black sleeves. You tasted like mangoes and smelled of strawberry milk. A horrible combo all at once, but I didn’t mind. I still have the chapstick you gave me, along with everything else. 

Anyway, you muttered something about how you’d been wanting to kiss me for a while and then apologized for kissing me. But I didn’t care. I hugged you, and we hung out for the rest of the dance, smiling like nothing happened. Obviously, something did, but we were already best friends. We just got closer friends (Or rather, girlfriends) after that. You made everything better. At least, in ninth grade you did. Then tenth grade happened.

The tenth grade sucked. And I don’t mean that lightly. Remember that horrible jerkwad, Tyler? Remember how he made fun of us? Called us weirdos? I mean, yeah, we’d both heard worse, but it hurt so much. I remember almost walking up to him and slapping him, but you stopped me. You, with your amazingly calming voice and your soft smile that you would give me when you were trying to tell me to stop doing something reckless.

To add to the horrible mood I’ve put myself in, remember when we were going to tell our families that we were a couple at the Christmas gathering? It backfired. Somehow, I have no idea how, but our parents got on the topic, and I quote, “Them Queers.”

They acted like LGBTQ+ people were sent from hell. Them being the “wonderful” Christians they were talked bad about them. About us. I remember my chest getting heavy and my stomach dropping. I squeezed your hand tightly, and you squeezed mine. We made up some excuse about wanting to watch TV in my room and walked down the hall. I remember collapsing in your arms, my shoulders sagging, and my breath shaking. But you comforted me. You stroked my hair and kissed my forehead, holding me tight. You held me in your arms and wiped my tears from my face, whispering sweet nothings to calm me down.

We stayed like that for a while. I miss that. Not the crying, but being by your side.

You know, I’m starting to notice a repeating theme. Me being an upset mess, and you comforting me. I don’t think I noticed before. You were always there.

I miss you so much. Every day. I remember your touch. How it always sent shivers down my spine. I remember your kisses. How they were always soft and sweet, leaving lingering warmth on my lips. I remember you. You, with your silky blonde hair that looked like waves hitting the sand. You, with your shiny grey eyes that you always squinted at me with when you were confused. You with your soft, pale, freckled skin and scabbed hands. I remember you.

I know this has already been a long email, but I’m on a roll now, and I can’t stop. You know how I said we’d come back to the moving thing? Well, we’re coming back to it.

It was a Monday. Don’t ask me how I remember. But it was a Monday.

You had been avoiding me for a week at least, and I was getting really confused. You’d never ignored me before, and I was starting to think something was up. I was getting really worried.

Then, finally, you came to me during lunch, tears in your eyes, and said, “We need to talk.”

You pulled me up from my seat and dragged me to our secret hideaway under the school’s stairs. Well, it wasn’t too secret, and we both knew it, but it was special.

You sat me down next to you, and you fiddled your fingers. I’d never seen you look so anxious before. 

You took a deep breath and said, “I have something to tell you.”

I tried to make a joke out of it. I tried to not let my mind wander to the deepest parts of “assuming the worst thing ever” and said, “What? Are you coming out to me again?

You chuckled, and I knew it wasn’t that. “No.” You said. “It’s something else.”

I brushed your hair out of your eyes and smiled. “You can tell me.”

“I…” You glanced away, frowning, your eyes glazing over. “I’m moving.”

At that moment, I felt my heart drop. It was like those really dramatic animated movie scenes when the camera zooms in on someone’s face and the music does a dramatic stop when someone finds out something surprising.

“Well, that’s alright. Right? We can do long-term!” I stuttered, trying to make the most of it. You were my best friend, and I didn’t want to lose you.

You shook your head, tears falling. “No. I can't do that to you. We’re 15. We both have lives ahead of us. I don’t want to hold you back.”

I couldn’t accept it. I didn’t want you to leave. You were my best friend. You had been my first kiss. My first girlfriend. We were the same. I didn’t want you to leave.

Tears started falling, but I pushed through. I asked you when you were moving. You said Wednesday. A frog leaped into my throat, and a sob started to build up. I shook my head, muttering, “Why” over and over. And you told me why.

Voice cracking, tears spilling, you said, “My parents found out.”

My soul left my body. Then rage followed. “And they’re making you leave because of that?” 

“Shush.” You said. “There’s more. They want us to cut contact.”

“No,” I muttered. “No. They can’t make us do that!”

You snapped. “Well, they are! We just need to make the most of it while we can, okay?!”

More tears fell, and I leaned against you, hugging you tightly. You hugged me back. We stayed like that together. Even when the lunch bell rang, I hugged you tightly, not wanting to let you go. I didn’t want to leave you. I couldn’t leave you. 

A few hours later, the final bell rang. We both looked at each other. Before getting up, I laid my lips on yours softly. They tasted of mangoes. You smelled of strawberry milk. I didn’t want to let you go. My lips lingered on yours for a while. I think I knew it would be our last kiss.

We both got up. Hand-in-hand, we walked out of the school.

The next day, you weren’t at school. I tried calling you, but you blocked me. I tried emailing you from our school emails, but you were already unenrolled in the district. You cut contact with me, but I never forgot about you.

I realize how creepy this all may sound, but I wanted to try contacting you one last time. At first, I thought, “She probably forgot about me! Why even try contacting her at all?” But here I am, writing this email. 

You got me through middle school. Through my first few years of high school. And I miss you. 

Okay, so, since I don’t know how to wrap this up, I’m just going to say thank you. And that, if you ever feel like talking again and your parents aren’t still completely jerkwads, respond to this email. 

But, if you completely hate me and you think I’m a weirdo, or if you don’t even remember me, that’s okay. 

Thank you for everything,

Mabel