Saturday, December 10th, 2016

I sat at the empty desk in my room feeling lost. It was Saturday evening, my dad and Jackie were at a holiday party, I wasn't scheduled to work, and I had an unsettled feeling of not knowing where I was supposed to be. Madison had texted me earlier and asked if I wanted to go to a party at one of her friend's houses down in Birmingham that night, but I declined. I was such a loser. I'd turned down an invitation to do something different and to meet new people, to literally sit around staring at the wall.

So, I tried staring out the window instead. It was snowing. It was a light, glittering snow that swirled as it fell and it had already dusted over the dull green grass.

I opened and closed the drawers of the desk as if I was looking for something, but I didn't know what. Even though I knew I wasn't going to find anything, because they were all empty. I felt hollow and frustrated. I slammed the top drawer and heard something fall with a thunk.

Great, I thought, my grandparents leave me something nice and I break it. I am the absolute worst.

I started to cry. What was wrong with me? I hesitantly pulled out the top drawer again to survey the damage. The entire bottom of the top drawer had fallen off and landed in the second drawer. I pushed it back in, pulled out the second drawer and reached in to lift the broken bottom panel. But there were two identical panels, with a small stack of papers sandwiched between them.

They were postcards tied together with a string. My name was written on a slip of paper tucked under the string on the top in Grandma Rose's handwriting. I fumbled with the knot, but I was too impatient and excited by my discovery to carefully untie it, so I cut the string and fanned the postcards across my desk. All of them were addressed to Miss Vanessa Brooks, c/o Miss Rosemary Durand and sent to my grandma's childhood home.

The front of the first postcard had a column of checkboxes next to standard postcard phrases like, "The weather has been beautiful!" and "Today was a sightseeing day!" The only box that was checked said, "Wish you were here!" There wasn't a message on the back. It wasn't even signed. It was postmarked in Wisconsin, on September 29th, 1953.

The next one was a color saturated image of a desolate, rough, red terrain and bright blue sky, with "Bad Lands of South Dakota" written across the top. In neatly printed handwriting on the back it said, "I think you would have liked the drive through here. I hope you get to see it one day." Still no signature. The postmark was from October, 1953.

I went through the rest of them with shaking hands. They were all dated about a month apart and took a meandering route through Western states. Most of the messages were pretty standard and impersonal, until I came across one from Montana in the spring that read, "Sometimes at night I lie and watch the stars and I can't believe you don't exist anywhere beneath the same endless sky. -Pete."

Then another with a picture of a wave crashing on a beach in Southern California that said, "I didn't think I'd be alone the first time I saw the Pacific Ocean. I wish you were here to share this with me. With love, Pete."

At the bottom of the small pile there was an envelope addressed the same way. It looked like it had never been opened. How did Grandma Rose exercise such restraint?

It was postmarked in May, 1954 in Seattle, Washington. I opened the envelope carefully and unfolded the letter inside.

Dear Vanessa,

I hope this finds you well. Everyday I pray that somehow, somewhere you're alive and well. 

There was always a chance that you'd receive my postcards before we even met. I've since realized it was irresponsible and unfair to write to you. If my postcards have reached you, and you don't understand why or know who I am, I'm very sorry for the confusion and there is no need to read any further.

But if the summer you were seventeen has come and gone, and you do remember knowing me, go ahead and read on.

Because postcards are for pleasant trips, I didn't tell you much about what I've been doing the past few months. I've been traveling around and finding work. Most of it is backbreaking, maybe because I know I deserve it, maybe because it's so tiring it helps me sleep at night. I finish the day and fall into bed and do it over again the next day. But no matter how hard I work or how often I move around, I can't outrun or pay for what I've done or sleep deeply enough that I don't dream of you.

I'm writing as I watch the sun go down over the sound, and like every other sunset I've seen for the past few months, it reminds me of you. I'm glad you asked me to remember that moment in detail as we watched the sky change colors from the tailgate of my truck, though I probably would have anyway, because it was one of the best of my life.

I looked over at you so much on the drive home from Detroit that day I can't believe I didn't crash. Admiring your freckles. Your cheeks, pink from the sun. The tendrils of hair curling around your face. The perfect curve of your upper lip- I could have looked at that alone all day everyday forever. I've kept this picture of you in my mind's eye every day since.

After almost losing you that afternoon, I wanted so badly to avoid losing you again that I asked too much of you, too soon. I held a faint hope that you'd stay with me, but your face said it all before you even answered my question.

Because our time was so short and what we had together never had a chance to settle into something steady and strong, I've allowed each moment with you to hold so much meaning and power that nothing and no one else can ever compare. I wonder if you've found the same.

I truly hope that if this letter and the postcards I've sent ever fall into your hands, you remember me and the time we spent together fondly, without letting any of it hold you back from anything or anyone you desire. I'm sure you're doing just fine. You're so different from me, with your thoughts on something bigger and better, somewhere in the future, while mine are always stuck in the past.

But if your memories of me trouble you, I hope they soften at the edges so they no longer cut each time they are revisited and eventually fade. You said memories melt together and asked me to remember every detail that evening. But there can be pain in clarity, and in the sharp edges left behind when it all breaks apart.

If I knew how it would have ended between us, I would have stopped it when I could. My selfishness may have stolen your future and everything you had to offer the world for decades beyond my last days. I wish that somehow I could know if you'd ever have the chance to read this.

Vanessa, I'm grateful for every second you chose to spend with me. This is the last you'll hear from me, though. I'm ready to leave this life behind and start over again.

I wish you all the happiness in the world and more.

All my love,

Pete

I folded the letter and raced down the stairs. I held it between my teeth as I pulled on my coat, grabbed my keys and ran out of the house.