Song 2

letter, dated August 14th , 2009

Dear ____________ *,

You don’t know me, not really. I don’t think that you would recognize me.

But I know you. I know who you are, and I know what you’ve done. I have been watching you now for twenty-four, nearly twenty-five years. Almost a quarter of a century I’ve known you.

I’ve been watching you for a long time.

I couldn’t see you clearly at first. In fact, I didn’t even know you were there. Every now and then I would catch something out of the corner of my eye – a shadow, I thought, or a bird lifting its wings in the distance, a startled cat slipping into the tall grass and under the fence. It’s nothing, I would think. A trick of the light.

I ignored you at first. Even when you started to come into focus – I ignored you. I wasn’t sure what I was seeing, but I was sure I didn’t want to see it.

It was almost like watching a picture develop. Do you remember Polaroids? I’m sure you do. It was like watching a Polaroid picture develop, only in slow motion. It’s like I was shaking the picture, and time slowed down, and parts of you were creeping out of the picture, bleeding out of the glossy paper, and spreading to the edges. You got clearer and clearer with every shake.

The first time I really saw you, was that also the first time I cut myself? I don't think so. I think hat was later. But I suspect that the first time I thought about cutting myself, I saw you. The problem is that once I saw you, and saw you clearly, and saw the truth of you, I couldn’t stop seeing you.

So I’ve been watching you ever since. I watch you idly. I don’t usually look too closely, although the reality of you – your presence that never ever leaves me – is always there, in front of me. I can’t figure out if it’s like watching a movie, or like peeking through a window, or looking at a painting, but I know it’s like something. I know that I am watching.

Actually, when I really think about it, it’s like I’m watching a movie. The old-fashioned kind, on reel-to-reel tape, images projected onto a screen against the wall. There is even a shaky countdown - 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Beep, beep, beep.

And scene.

I don’t mind watching you, not really. It’s not like smelling you, or hearing you. There is a smell, and there is a sound, and I refuse to smell it or hear it. It’s a smell that I should have never known. I don’t remember the sound of your voice, but I do remember your words. Lies and bad stories. That is not part of the movie that I watch. It’s a silent movie, just the sound of the tape spinning and the projector whirling.

There is a certain slant of light. There really is. I know the slant of light. It fell across the bedroom floor. It was draped lazily across the bed. I don’t mind looking at it. If I only look at the light, it’s not even that bad. There is nothing scary about light. Light doesn’t have a smell. That smell. Light doesn’t have a sound. Light doesn’t lie.

So I have been watching you. I’ve been watching closely lately. I’ve been peering, really. And I’ve been thinking.

I thought I would write this letter to you, and give it to in person. I have decided to stop the movie, and I can only think of one way to do it. You will have to go, and so will the film. I’m tired of watching. I’ve never been much of a voyeur, and I don’t think it suits me, so I need to make it stop. The images and the scene that I am watching cannot go on forever.

Here is what I see, and this is what I will do:

I am in a bedroom. I can tell it’s mid-afternoon because of the way the light spills across the floor and the bed. Lovely golden light, with little motes floating in it. The kind of light that you could touch if you wanted to. You are there. I won’t say what you are doing, or what you look like, or what you are going to ask me to do. That is our secret. That will always be our secret.

I am so young. There is a picture of me taken sometime after this, and I look so sad. In it, I am wearing a light blue dress and a ribbon for a headband, and my eyes are sad.

I will be prepared for this, and when I step into the scene, I will have that picture with me. It’s a weapon, in a way. So are my arms. I carry my scars with me like armor. No one can hurt me, if this is what I’ve done to myself.

I don’t notice the smell. I don’t hear your voice. I don’t hear your lies. I recognize now how absurd you are, and how pathetic. You’ve draped yourself across the bed, like you’re sunlight. What a joke. Like you have some kind of power. Like you ever had any power. Like you’ve ever meant anything.

I think that I will show you the picture of me with a ribbon for a headband, and show you my arms, and I will laugh at you. I don’t think I will say anything. I don’t have a speech planned, I don’t think I will need to speak. I think you will know exactly what I intend to do.

I found out years ago what you had done to yourself. At first I thought it was unfair. Now I wonder if I was me. I wonder if I stepped back into the scene, like I’m doing now, and put the gun to your head. Who’s to say I haven’t done it already, who’s to say I haven’t done it a thousand times before now?

It doesn’t matter, anyway. This time I am going to destroy the film entirely. I will show you the picture, and I will laugh, and then I will begin.

I think you will be surprised. You have probably forgotten me, but I have been watching you for nearly twenty-five years now. I am so tired of watching you.

Close your eyes now. I will close mine too, later, when I am done.

Sincerely,

_______________**

* Name illegible.
** Not signed.