Letter One

I don’t understand why they made me write this. You’re dead. You’ll never come back. You’ll never read this. What’s the point of me writing letters to you? How will this make me feel better? I don’t feel like writing today anyway. I’m just going to end this here and write more tomorrow.

Letter Two

Here I am, writing to you again. I have more to talk to you about, I guess. Not really, but it’s all a start.

Mom’s beginning to think I have depression, because I hardly leave my room, I hardly eat and drink . . . but she doesn’t understand. I just want to be with you. I want you to hold me in your arms again. I want you to cradle me like you used to do even though you’re smaller than me. I want you to tell me everything will be okay, and that you’ll make sure no one hurts me. I want you to be alive, here, with me. I don’t think I can get through high school without you, baby.

I miss your amazing baking. I miss your cookies. I remember us trying to cook once in fifth grade, and we got flour all over ourselves. I called you the Flour Princess and we laughed and laughed, rolling in more flour. Your dad got sooo mad at us, but even to this day, I don’t regret even a thing.

I miss you, Sarah. I just want you back . . .

Letter Three

I stayed in bed all day today. I knew you’d be mad at me. I could hear your voice in my head, “How stupid can you be, Clara?” but what can I do? You’re gone. You were my everything, and now you’re gone.

Dad’s been trying to get me to go outside, just to take in the sunshine. “You’re as pale as a vampire,” he tells me all the time. But I won’t. I won’t ever go outside without you. Thank God it’s summer so I don’t have to go to school. I can just stay inside 24/7.

I remembered something else today. I remember that one day in Newport. We were driving to the beach, when you’d told me to stop the car. You got out and walked straight into a field. I’m not sure what was growing there, but I think it was wheat, looking back on it. We ran through the field together, laughing and squealing, before taking the car through and parking it right in the middle of it. We lay on the hood, stargazing, until you fell asleep on my shoulder. I remember that day clearly. It was one of my favorite days.

Mom has this habit of telling me I’m beautiful. I have this habit of telling her I’m not. Because I’m not. I won’t believe it until I hear your voice again. I won’t believe it unless you tell me.

I remember all of your little habits. I remember how you would dance around whenever your favorite song came on. I remember your favorite flower (rose), your favorite color (red) . . . I remember all of you. How you always wore flower-scented perfume, how you claimed to never want a tattoo yet you had a tattoo of a rose on the inside of your left wrist. (Your mom still doesn’t know, by the way).

I should get some sleep. Writing at one a.m. was a bad idea. I’ll try to write tomorrow.

Letter Four

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a few days. I have an excuse. Mom wanted me to go out and talk to people. I went outside, but read in the park instead of talked to people. I didn’t really talk to people. My mind was on you all day.

I sat on the hill we used to cuddle on top of. The daisies are growing there again. I found myself staring at them for a while, just to remember it all. I remembered making you a daisy crown and putting it in your hair. Of course, that had been a bad idea. You ended up being chased by bees and had to get rid of it. You apologized to me over and over about it for the rest of the day, but I told you it was okay.

Now, you’re probably wondering why going to the park for one day would excuse an absence for multiple days. To tell you the truth, it doesn’t. I spent the other days locked up in my room again, wanting nothing to do with other people.

I’m still waiting for you to show up at my door, laughing. I’m waiting for you to tell me it was all a joke, all an elaborate prank. I don’t need you gone. I need you here, with me. I need you to hold me, Sarah. To tell me no one can hurt me again.

Letter Five

You’re not dead. You can’t be dead. I know I saw a shock of hair the same color as yours around the corner at the mall today. I know I heard the clicking of your heels behind me. I heard your laugh, too. This is all a joke, isn’t it? It isn’t very funny, Sarah.

Show yourself. I know you’re alive. You’re probably sneaking into my room at night to read these. I see you everywhere.  You’re following me. This is all a stupid prank.

Show me a sign. You don’t have to tell me you’re back, just show me a sign. Show that you’re okay. That you aren’t dead.

This is all so stupid. You do realize your parents are blowing almost all their money on making a funeral for you, right? They’re setting it for this weekend. I bet you already knew that, huh? You’re probably planning for some magic return at the funeral. You’ll probably wait for just the right moment before bursting through the doors, exclaiming, “I’m alive!” and expect everyone to be happy about it.

News flash: we won’t be. Playing a prank about death isn’t okay. No one will be happy you’re back. I’ll be relieved, but not happy. I’ve bawled my eyes out for days over you. I won’t just automatically be happy and smiley all the time once you’re back.

In fact, the first thing I’ll ask you is why. Why fake your death and then leave? I bet you the body they found in that crushed up car is fake. Probably some elaborate dummy covered in theater makeup. Are you working alongside the police, too? Is that why they claimed it was all real?

This is completely ridiculous. Just come back to me and we can talk about it all.

Letter Six

I hate you. How could you do this to me? How dare you go driving that night, those days ago? How dare you leave me all alone? You know I hate being alone. So why do this to me?

What did I do to you? Was it that argument we had a few months ago? I’m sorry. I really am sorry.

You left behind a family. A girlfriend. So, so many friends. You left everyone alone. We’re all sad now. How could you?

Letter Seven

The year was 2014. We were both in eighth grade. You were a little bit on the chubby side, but you were so likeable that no one really noticed or cared. I had so many freckles on my face that everyone called me Freckle Face.

We became friends pretty quickly. Honestly, you were my first friend ever, besides my mom (who doesn’t count). You were so kind to me, and never called me Freckle Face. You even told off anyone who did. We spent most of our days out at the park, running through the trees and whispering secrets to each other and watching as the sun went down every night.

I realized I’d had a crush on you in the summer after eighth grade. We’d only been friends for about six months, but I was entirely infatuated with you. I didn’t want to tell you, though, for fear of rejection. You were such an outgoing and sweet person, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by trying to take it a step further. Of course, I never got the chance to tell you that, because you asked me out the first day of freshman year.

Your dad’s car pulled up to my driveway that morning. I remember it clearly: it had been a chilly Monday morning. The first day of school being on a Monday sounded like a ridiculous idea. You were smiling and waving at me from the back as I ran to get in. You excitedly told me about all the fun we were going to have in high school, and your dad made you promise not to get in any trouble, which made you laugh and say, “I promise, Dad.”

It wasn’t until we were inside the building and walking to the gym when you turned to me. I remember the exact words you told me, “Clara, I love you.” Then you kissed me. It’d been one of those kisses like they describe in romance novels, where the world seems to spin and sparks fly. It was also like on T.V., where they kiss in the rain and cameras spin around them and romantic songs play.

I wish you’d kiss me like that again. It was amazing. I miss it. I miss you . . .

Letter Eight

Today, I went out again. Yep, you guessed it, Mom made me. But this time I met the cutest girl. I wouldn’t say cuter than you, obviously, but she was pretty cute. She had hair that bounced as she walked, and this bright smile that was almost always on her face. I think she was with friends, or something.

I went to talk to her. Which was probably a really stupid move. But I did it anyway. She told me her name was Sky. What a beautiful name, right? I admit I didn’t listen to most of what she was saying, because I was staring at her face.

I think I might finally be able to move on from you, Sarah. I got Sky’s number and I’m planning on texting her tonight. If you don’t want me to, just . . . come back, and I won’t. Okay?

Letter Nine

Seeing as you didn’t come back, I texted Sky last week. We went on a pretty sweet date, which was going for ice cream at that little shop downtown. We walked down the nearby bridge, crossing it to the park. We sat on the swings and talked for what felt like hours.

I’m going to talk about her a lot in this letters. I’m not sorry. You died on me and so now I get to talk about my new girlfriend. It’s what you get.