Shotgun Letter

Lexi Cummings, 8/13/20

It was a long shot, hoping Sam would show up to the party. He knew that she would

have been there without a doubt had he not discarded her from his life just a

few weeks prior. Still, he couldn’t believe she had given up on him; he hadn’t

accepted that she refused to chase him out the door. He didn’t care if she

showed up with a vengeance or just to get a glimpse of him, as long as she

came.

It was the end of pledging season so people quickly flooded through the doors,

some already drunk and high while others brought kegs and stacked the fridge

with a variety of other alcoholic beverages. He stayed near the beer pong table

in the corner, keeping a nonchalant eye on the front door. With a constant stream

of beer in his hand, he started drinking them down faster and faster to dull

his nerves. An hour went by and then some more. Suddenly, her roommate Marissa

walked through the door. He was more than sure that Sam would be with her, more

than sure. He rushed over, nearly tripping in his intoxicated state to give

Marissa a hug that she didn’t want in the slightest. Behind her was Brooke,

Sam’s little. He looked around them adamantly, wondering where Sam was. They

had never shown up to a party without her before. Brooke was quick to throw up

both middle fingers and scream “Fuck off!” into his face. But he couldn’t leave

them alone, he was too drunk to walk away. He thought maybe she would still

come, maybe she was meeting them later. 

…

Sam was back at her apartment. She meant to go that night, but her body fell apart

just a few hours beforehand. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been

so tired, so drained, so empty. Marissa and Brooke had been planning for days

how they would all show up together, how Sam would pick a lucky guy to kiss

that evening for some revenge, maybe she would even have some fun. But Sam

wasn’t that type, she didn’t have it in her to stir the pot when he was

stirring it more than enough all by himself. She had only ever kissed three

boys in her life, she never drank or smoked or partied. The only reason she

started going out was for him. 

She knew he would be there and, ultimately, couldn’t stomach it. She was sick of

being the bigger person; even though she wanted him to taste a small fraction

of the pain he’d caused her for over a year, she decided to stay home anyway.

He didn’t deserve the sight of her. And she refused to let him see her this

broken.

The night strung along and Sam never came. He drank a few more beers as the noise level rose higher and higher. The smell of weed became apparent and the temperature was at an ungodly high. There was no room to move in that house, people crowded every crevasse and corner to where they could all barely stand in place. It wasn’t long before the police came and everyone left, cutting the festivities

shorter than anticipated. 

Marissa got back home around 1am, reporting to Sam how he approached them. She was more than happy to have stayed home but couldn’t deny that she still missed him. As for that night, she knew she won the unstated battle for superiority. She knew that she appeared unshaken while he was beginning to crumble.

…

He cornered her one morning before classes, spewing an empty sorry laced with a

few more lies. He couldn’t let go of the facade he was clinging to, even though

she had already seen far past it. 

He had done unspeakable things; he knew that no apology could fix what he had

broken. Secretly, he searched for her social media accounts daily. The more the finality dawned on him, the more desperate his attempts became. He had nearly pushed her past her breaking point when, suddenly, colleges closed for good. They called it COVID-19, a virus that stopped the world in its tracks. Restaurants, bars,

museums, and society came to an abrupt halt. Sam was shipped back to Washington

with her parents and he drove to his hometown a few hours away. It gave Sam a

perfect excuse to disappear, far away from him.

Months went by and he was silent. He drowned his guilt in one-night stands and more drinking. He found comfort in the darkness, in his hidden addictions that the

world would never see. There was no way to fix this, no way to dig himself out

of the mess he created. She knew all of his tricks; she knew more about what he

truly was than even he did. 

Slowly, he started to re-read the old letters she had written to him. He searched for

kernels inside of her words, looking for a sign to burst back into her life.

But he knew they were old and dead and from another time that was now

gone. He surprised even himself when he broke out pen and paper, writing her a final letter. 

“Dear Sam, 

I lied. For as much as you know now, I promise that there will always be more you

don’t know. It's better that way. But more than anyone else, I wanted you to

see me for who I wanted to be. Even though I was never that man. I pretended to

be someone better because you deserved the very best. I know it will take a

long time for you to love again and trust again and I am so sorry for that.

Words will never do this apology justice. I still love you and I always will. If

I don’t hear back from you by December 2^nd, just know that I understand and what happens next isn’t your fault. All of this is mine.”

He placed it in an envelope and sealed it, addressing it to her apartment where he

used to be all too familiar with the smell of lavender and Sam walking around

in an oversized sweater; lace underwear just barely out of sight. It was a

place that tasted like his favorite meals, that trusted him with an extra

toothbrush by the bathroom sink, that sounded like her voice while she sang not

knowing he could hear her in the next room. 

The next morning, he drove to the post office. The gravel under his shoes was a

soft hush compared to the pounding of his heart as he approached the drop box;

shakily raising his hand to usher the letter through the slip. 

…

“Over there, in the corner by the window.” Sam said to the crew of movers as they

brought in her furniture. A fresh start, she thought to herself. She was

somewhere new and ready to leave the memories of him behind in that old

apartment. This new place represented freedom. She didn’t have to be reminded

of him as she walked through every room and could make new memories now. She

didn’t have to run anymore. Restaurants began to open again, writer’s nights

started booking. She was finally releasing her own music and doors were

beginning to open. 

A few weeks later, she was scrolling her phone. She was nearly asleep from a long

day when she saw the first post- one of his friends shared a picture of him and

the caption told the tale of a final goodbye. Her heart instantly sank three floors

beneath her and into the concrete foundation of the building; her eyes burned,

her fingers clicked frantically hoping it wasn’t true. More and more posts

appeared as personal texts began to arrive followed by a few phone calls. He

was gone.

…

A week later, she found herself lying in bed even though it was 6 in the

afternoon. Why? Why was he so selfish? Why would he do this? Sam’s thought spun

down too many circles to count before her phone started buzzing- it was her

mom. She clicked red and turned over, not in the mood to chat. It started ringing again, the same caller. She picked up her phone to answer, saying “What’s

up, mom? I am really tired and about to sleep. Everything good?” “Sam…” she

replied, followed by silence. “What? What’s wrong?” Sam said, a bit more

frantically. She worried that someone else had died, that her world was about

to shatter again. She also imagined for the briefest moment that maybe he was

alive somehow; that he was okay. “He wrote you a letter before he died.” But

then, with those words, her world stood still. “Hello, Sam? Are you still

there?” “Y-yes, mom. I don’t under- ““Honey, your old apartment mixed up the

forwarding address for your mail. It came all the way up here to us in

Washington. It took too long; it was too late.” Her voice cracked as she began

to sob. “He thought you ignored his letter, he didn’t know you never got it...”

her mother wailed, but Sam’s mind just stopped working. She stared above at the

popcorn ceiling and suddenly her eyes couldn’t focus on anything, every detail

was a blur. Her mother’s sobs suddenly sounded muffled and she couldn’t feel

her limbs. He died thinking that she didn’t love him anymore, that she could

never forgive him for what he had done to her. And now? He would never know

that he was so, very, incredibly wrong. He would never know that the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life was let him go.