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Day twenty-two of thirty: “Someone you want to give a second chance”.

Dear KF,

How about a fifth chance? An eighth chance?

One more. Maybe. Just like you’re getting another letter, no?

I can’t decide if I want to say goodbye to you. Leaving without saying it might possibly be the best revenge I could have… but I have an affinity for the theatrical, the melodramatic, the tragic and tragicomic, and to say goodbye would be exactly the right memory-forging opportunity for me and for us. It’s selfish, horribly selfish. I hope you’ll call me on that night so I don’t have to. I might still anyway, for you owe me one dance if nothing else.

And to leave without saying goodbye seems to me exactly what you’re hoping for. What the hell are you hoping for, actually?

NS says you’re far over it all, and I believe it. Some days I am, some days I am not. It always depends. Frankly, it appears from here that I could come out of this summer emotionally healthy and reasonably well-adjusted—in other words, exactly the opposite of how I wanted it, which was the price I’d have gladly paid. But I am truly glad and relieved that you are doing well.

Anyway, maybe I’ll see you on or around the 20th or the 19th. If not, go to hell, you teasing, heartbreaking liar. I’ll think of you often.

With love always, you bitch,

CP

Day twenty-one of thirty: “Someone you judged by their first impression”.

Dear CK,

We only knew each other for a day. I wonder, in my judgment, if I was unfair.

I might never know. You seemed… really dumb, frankly, a true airhead without much to offer in conversation or thought. I thought you were wonderfully intriguing for your total embodiment of the ditzy blonde stereotype, where hair shade and skin tone are locked in an inverse progression of expensive artifice.

But an English major, too? This took me a little by surprise, because that must mean you seek meaning and depth out of literature, but I didn’t see much more of that in our little interaction. To be fair, maybe that’s my fault, playing to your ditzy blonde side instead because that’s what I thought you were. That’s all I thought you were.

We’ll probably never talk again. And ultimately, whether I was “right” or not, if you actually gave a damn about literature or if you actually do only care about tanning and partying, that’s unjust.

CP

Day twenty of thirty: “The one who broke your heart the hardest”.

Dear AB,

You played my game better than I did. You beat me. I’m still amazed.

In poker, there’s a concept of “pot commitment”; if you’re in a hand and someone else may have you beat, but you’ve already committed too many chips to have a reasonable stack if you fold, you’re “pot committed” and it’s time to push all-in, consequences be damned, even if you think you have the second-best hand.

Poker is often a wonderful metaphor for real life. Pot commitment doesn’t apply to matters of romance. I got pot-committed. I called and raised and called and raised. And you had me beat all along.

Maybe if I hadn’t tried to escape at the first, you wouldn’t have changed as you did, because I feel that I caused you to raise your guard and play defensively. That’s what beat me in the end—maybe it was my own doing all along and maybe I paid for my actions justly. Maybe you’re just a bitch and I fucked up in pursuing you at all.

Now you sicken me. Fuck you.

CP

Day nineteen of thirty: “Someone that pesters your mind”.

Dear B,

I can’t remember your last name, so you’re relegated to one initial. I still think of you sometimes, surprisingly; I doubt you remember me in great significance, but you are significant to me. You see, you’re the most remarkably stupid fellow I’ve ever met.

Sometimes I try to think of things as you would see them; I fear that your “style” of existence, your human “perspective” is more widespread than I initially thought. So are you a plague, a necessary blight, a blessing in (very extensive) disguise? I don’t know. I might never.

But you’re “normal”, right? You had the average advantages and average disadvantages, but the irony is that perhaps, though I’ve had, materially and intellectually, “more” than you, you might be happier. Maybe you always will be. You probably get laid more frequently than I do, anyway, and spend less time being intentionally miserable.

In that, then, there is a remarkable lesson that I should learn from you. What’s the help in being intentionally miserable? Do I see some greater depth in it simply because I’m (so much) smarter than you, or more intent on exploring the facets of human emotion? Maybe the simple answer is the best one—I’m just being sad because I don’t know how to make myself happy. You, I think, have learned how to bring yourself up with the force of will. That, at least, is admirable.

Even if you are an idiot, and not even a nice one.

This only goes to demonstrate that anyone might have a lesson for me, and some eventual worth to my life and experience…

I wish you luck in the future, B. Even you can graduate high school, and though you really don’t seem cut out for college, I think you’ll find a way to make it in the world and be happy. That has value, right?

CP

Day eighteen of thirty: “The person that you wish you could be”.

Dear CP,

You are amorphous. You shift from moment to moment and I can’t capture all of you at once. Maybe I never will.

CP

Day seventeen of thirty: “Someone from your childhood”.

Dear AP,

I could have guessed then that you’d turn into an arrogant prick. The determinist cards were stacked against you—but I get ahead of myself. I don’t know if you’re an arrogant prick. I’m just assuming that I was right that you became one because it seems so obvious that it’s really the only thing you could have turned out to be. I’m getting ahead of myself.

You weren’t much of a best friend anyway, in the end. I don’t remember you sticking up for me when I needed it, but I remember you standing by RS and DH and JS. Maybe my memory censors and edits itself to make me the hero, though.

I hope, as someone of such remarkable creativity and intellect, that you don’t insulate yourself too terribly from the world with other people of money. You could rule the world, I’m fairly confident, but I think you’ll just end up with a massive house (the kind so big that they’re called “estates”) and a few “board of directors” bullshit positions and an “investment portfolio” or what the fuck ever.

I guess, in the end, rich people can have the same raw futility of existence that impoverished people do. Will you exemplify it?

I wonder if I should write to you; I think it would be interesting to know what you’ve done since our days in elementary school. You seem externally like a goody-good kid, but I know you’re intelligent enough to see the strains of bullshit and the cracks of illogic in the systems around us. And I know you have the sense of entitlement that would drive you to exploit them—but for what purpose I cannot tell.

Do you still hang out with RS or JS? I remember you being so close to them. RS probably turned out to be a student council/AP superstar. JS probably turned out to be a whore.

What did we become?

I don’t miss you. But I think of you when I run by your gated community.

CP

Day sixteen of thirty: “Someone that’s not in your state/country”.

Dear JS,

You may be the only person I know in another country, which earns you this dandy letter.

I really hope you come down to the United States sometime; I’m afraid it’s one of those pipe dreams that’s relegated to “someday” until it never happens, but we could have a hell of a lot of fun. The 100×100 should happen, definitely. Get some moneys, I’ll get a car, and we’ll pick up CJ and raise apathy across the heartlands of the glorious country.

You have some ideas about our country that make me kind of sad, sometimes; anyway, I’d like to show you which ones are fortunately false and which ones are hilariously true.

I find it interesting to talk to you because of our vast cultural differences; it leads me to wonder which of our ideas are really our own, and which ones are born of cultural prejudice, circumstance, and the “lottery of birth”. Could we have turned out like each other had I grown up in Helsinki and you in Chandler? Could I have been the one who taught little kids to rally in the name of socialism…?

Anyway, I’m glad we’re frands. Though you seem like you’d be a little antisocial in person, or if we had met in person first, you’re a very friendly and good-hearted dood, even though I don’t know if you’d admit it. Finns are tough through and through, I know.

It’s okay. It’s okay if you cry a little.

It’s fun talking to you at absurd hours. I’ll do my best to stay in touch, but I can’t promise to post more. We have AIM and email and skype and whatnot for that.

GOOD NIGHT

CP

Day fifteen of thirty: “The person you miss the most”.

Dear CP,

I’m glad you’re coming back. This is the person I missed most—the version of me that’s in shape. Everyone else that I miss has gotten a letter already. D:

Running, running running. It will never get me anywhere but I can run from anything, and I missed terribly the nights and mornings when I was self-propelled, cognizant of my own strength and the confidence that came with it. I feel healthier, more confident, and more purposed when I’m in shape—almost a different person, or at least a very different facet of a person. This is worthwhile.

And I missed it!

Tonight I went six miles at a strong pace. I feel awesome and I can’t wait to go on ten-milers in Pittsburgh.

CP

Day fourteen of thirty: “Someone you’ve drifted away from”.

Dear MC,

I think we’ll be okay and back to how we were soon, and I’m really eager for that. You and I are good together, and I have really missed you—both your silliness and your depth.

That’s not to say we haven’t had our arguments and issues, but they’ve come and gone in stride, thankfully. This most recent time I was afraid that was it. Thank you so much for contacting me that morning, and thank you for being honest with me. I should probably have guessed what it was… but no matter, that’s likely far behind me now. I remember you were the first person with whom I could be most open about that issue (long conversations as we drove too fast on the highway) and now you got to see it played out before you. So it goes.

Hey, and I still want to borrow the Hercules book from you.

And that’s something else I’ve always appreciated—we share a great appreciation for literature, and there’s really nobody else with whom I can talk about books and authors in detail and at length. In short, you rock, fellow future English major. I wonder if you’ll be a teacher. Do you get irritated when people ask that?

Balls aside! I hope you find great success in your show this week (and long into the future!) and that you and Frisco make it home with a carload of trophies and ribbons. I’ll see you soon, my friend. And I’m sorry we fragmented for a while.

CP