Dear Alaska

Dear Alaska and All Present, 

It truly was an oddity to see the town gem’s smile fade for any reason, but it was an absolute peculiarity for a tear to leave her Cali green eyes. Surely, she must cry when she’s alone, and surely there must be some beautiful inner warfare in her heart only unearthed within the maroon walls of her bedroom. But surely, these struggles she works to combat would never push her to reveal her vulnerability to the outside, especially not to me, and especially not behind the thin screen in my window. 

“Here,” I offer, pulling the screen up and aiding her entrance into my room by taking her hand. 

Being a firsthand audience member watching the mental breakdown of “the girl with no frown” didn’t sadden me or push me to the brink of dealing out my overwhelming condolences, but it frightened me. I incessantly think the worst of this world; my paranoia is beyond me, but who would, or could, hurt such an unbreakable beauty?

What was Ito do? Alaska Carroll was crying in the middle of myroom. Me! I had the honor of having you stand in my room in the middle of the night and it's sad to think that I had no idea how much that would mean to me later. Somehow, you still looked beautiful with darkness running from your eyeline to your chin. 

Then she hugged me. Youhugged me.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered this idiotic phrase that would prove to be my most genius ingenious moments yet, because although she didn’t say anything back, but she didn’t let go.

“Honestly, he’s a jerk. Who cares about him?” I ask, retrieving some comfort food from the fridge. “German chocolate is your favorite right?” I decide on the cake I’d forgotten about in the depths of my fridge. I pull it out, grab two forks, and set it in front of her as she sat at my kitchen table.

“Yeah it is. Thanks for knowing that I guess,” she smiled through her bloodshot eyes. “and Icare unfortunately.”

Realizing you can’t possibly eat cake without a beverage, I turn back to the refrigerator. “Well, yeah of courseyoucare. But like, if a guy can’t even appreciate the big sacrifices you make for them, then how are they going to appreciate the things that really matter about you? Ya know, like the really good qualities.” I grab milk for me, and orange juice for her.

“What do you mean?”

Reaching up to the highest cabinet above the stove, I get out two cups and set them on the table. I begin pouring our drinks as I absentmindedly answer her question. “Like, in my opinion, the little things someone notices about you are the things that really reflect how they feel about you. I mean, it’s easy to be grateful for obvious big things someone does. Like if you bought me a puppy; that’d be really kind and an obviously huge gesture that shows compassion towards me so it’s easy for me to appreciate that.” I miss my cup a bit and spill on the table. I begin wiping it up. Focused on my new task, I blindly continue, “But if I complimented the little freckle in the crease between where your nose meets your face, or the way you cover your braces when you laugh, or how you snore only when you fall asleep in English class because you snore when your stressed, or like the way you kinda light up when you see city lights, or how music twists your face when you’re trying not to dance, or even the way you like orange juice with the pulp because it reminds you of a world where everyone is just too young to be so unhappy,” I look up to see that her tears have come back, “then that’s when you really know someone cares…that someone sees you. Don’t cry again please.”

She complies and wipes her eyes but she never breaks our gaze. Her head slowly begins to shake.

“Why…do you know that stuff?” Her voice shakes.

“Well I-“

“Why!?” She throws her glass at the wall ahead. Its contents paints the wall and the glass shatters, as does all of the progress I thought I’d made in helping her feel better. 

I just stare at her, stupefied but as I notice her heaving chest and the look in her eyes, I know better than to question her actions.

“I read your blog.” I halfheartedly admit.

“My freckle isn’t on my blog, my face when I listen to music isn’t on my blog, my eyes aren’t on my blog! Tell me why you know all of that!”

There’s a silence that doesn’t go away even after I begin to speak. “Tell me why you’re so upset and I’ll tell you why I know.”

She leans back and shifts in her chair. “Because. It just makes me uncomfortable. I was just cheated on; I have no trust for anyone and no respect for anyone else who wants to use my feelings to get into my pants.”

“I would never.” 

“Tell me why the hell you know all of that!” Her hand slams down on the table. 

I stare at the ripples in my milk, then turn toward the orange juice settling into my wallpaper. “I know because, I just think you’re too young to be so unhappy.” I look up at her and she’s slightly less dissatisfied. “And because I think you’re too authentic to be so fake. And because I think you’re too noticed to be so overlooked. And I think you’re so beautiful to be seen by just anyone. And I think you’re amazing but you’ll never know that because you think love is the idea of a white picket fence surrounding a modernized home and protecting a little happy family with no care in the world. But in reality, the fence is yellow, the house is old, and the little happy family is made up of cheaters and liars who would leave each other and abandon their children any chance that they had! I think you should leave.” I’m standing now. I didn’t mean to say any of that. I mean, I meant to say it, but not like this. Not at all like this. “I’m sorry, Alaska.”

She stands now too. “That’s fine,” Her voice is so low I can hardly make out her words and she refuses to look me in the eyes, “Sorry about the glass.” She turns for the door. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I overstepped, honestly.”

“I just feel so stupid,” She stops in her tracks but doesn’t turn to face me, “I’m not okay, ya know? And here I thought I was the only happy person that was so unhappy,” She turns around now, “but you’re not all that happy either huh? That’s why you watch me; because you want to feel the same way you think that I feel every day.”

“Alaska, I watch you because you’re beautiful. Not because I think you’re hot, or sexy, you’re just beautiful and because you’re the only person I’d like to really know. I watch you because I’ve loved you since the second day of 3^rdgrade when you spilled orange paint on my blue shoes.” I want to ask her to stay the night in this moment. I’ve always found it unsafe to drive with a mind and eyes as clouded in emotion as hers right now. 

But I don’t. At the time, a hug was enough for me to allow her to go on her way, hoping the kiss she’d planted on my cheek meant something more that just a desperate attempt to fill the void that had been left in her heart that day. 

So as I stand out her in the middle of a forgotten cemetery on a freezing Christmas Eve that’ll change all Christmas Eve’s to come, I wonder if I’ll ever truly understand how she felt when she left my house that day. I like to tell myself that she was relieved that someone saw through her persona, that she was happy. As happy as she could be anyway. But it’ll haunt me until I die, because you left this world the instant that semi struck you head on as you headed home from my house that night. 

I will neverbe okay, but I’ll die knowing that I knew Alaska; the girl with the biggest frown, the broken beauty, the town’s gem with the Cali green eyes. I really knew Alaska. 

And she knew me. 

This is for all of the people that Alaska appreciates most; the ones who are too young to be so unhappy.

Have a Merry Christmas, with Alaskan elegance in mind and in all of your hearts.