I don’t know what to do now. I think about you every hour, every minute, every second. The only break I get from that is sleep, and I’m pretty low on that. I don’t even want to. I just want to get to you. I want to walk to you, even though I think it’s about ten miles. I would do anything to see you, Evie.
I miss seeing your hair band on your wrist. I miss the way you always smack the visor mirror shut after you put that lip gloss on. I miss the way you would tell me to shut up, the way you always pushed the newspaper down when I was at the table just so you could tease me to my face about reading the newspaper.
Evie. I don’t know how to live without you. It’s the worst kind of irony, because if I ever hope to see you again, I have to do it. I know that. Please don’t worry. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I will. I’ll find a way to see you. I’m going to try to call you sometime soon, on your cell phone.
I hope you’re okay, Evie.
All my love, forever,
Landon
I bite my lips and set that one aside. Tears are making my eyes blurry, but I won’t let them fall.
1-29-07
Oh, Ev. They changed your number. I waited so long to find a time to call, and now the number doesn’t work.
It’s hard to swallow.
I hope that you’re okay, Evie. I have this thought of skipping school one day and taking one of the buses to you. Maybe after school, at soccer. I know I’d get in trouble, but I have to see your face…
I think about you night and day. This place is not a good one. There are twelve of us, and they only let us do our laundry twice a month. They feed us strange foods, the same things almost all the time, and we can’t bathe alone, because they say there’s not enough hot water. This other guy and I always shower together, and we both fucking hate it. I still have all the clothes from your house. I wish I had something of yours with me. How is it possible that I have nothing of you?
It hurts, Evie. I don’t want to seem like a pussy, but I hate how much it hurts. I’ve never felt like this before. Not even with the hospital stuff. I think I understand now why people use drugs. I need something to numb my brain. Don’t worry, though. I’m still okay. I try to dream of you when I can sleep.
It’s been almost a month now, Evie. I’m coming to you soon.
In college, one of my favorite classes was beginners’ astrophysics. I liked learning the different theories about reality and the universe, even if there was a lot of math. Tears fall now, as I blink down at his words. The words my Landon wrote for me.
In another universe, he took a bus that day. Maybe it was a day when I was home, after I’d withdrawn from the semester for “mono” and before I got sent off to Aunt Raina’s up in Massachusetts. Landon knocked on my door, and I answered in pajamas and a robe.
He held his arms out, and I fell into them. Then I told him everything.
2-10-07
Are you getting my letters? Ev, I almost hope you’re not. I don’t want to worry you.
I tried to come see you the other day. The man here, Kevin, wife of Marge, a truck driver and waste of air asshole, caught me and he kicked me. I think one of my ribs is broken, but it’s okay. Those things heal. I read about it in the library and got four rolls of tape from a supply closet at school. With it taped, it’s easier to breathe.
I really hate this fucking place. The other day, one of the other guys puked. No one will change his bed sheets or let him do the laundry. The people here are fucked up. I don’t know that much about the human brain, but I can tell there’s something wrong with them. If I wasn’t focused on you, I can see how someone could get pretty down and out here. Winter doesn’t help. I hate the constantly gray sky. I hate winter. Did I ever tell you that? I’d love to move to fucking Florida. Key West, maybe.
Ev, I miss you in my bed. I miss the softness of your lips, the heat of your mouth. I miss my name in your voice.
Please, Evie. I want to see you. I’m so scared you’ll forget me. Please say that you haven’t.
Landon
I don’t go back often—really, ever—but for a few moments, here in the cradle of my bedroom, I let myself be her again. The devastated girl. The girl who broke her parents’ heart, who wrecked herself, who failed to reach the boy she loved. The girl who went to the Harvard health services center two weeks after starting freshman year and fell apart so thoroughly that she got escorted to the mental health clinic. The girl who didn’t kiss a single boy in undergrad. Who went on research trips on holidays and interned in the summers. The girl who didn’t have a close friend again until med school, who banned wine until a year ago because drinking made her “too crazy.” Who became Catholic for a full two years just for Confession. I was that girl. I was her. For Landon.
2-24-07
I miss you Evie. I miss you more than anything. I love you. I want to cry but I think it’s because I’m so so tired. I’m going to try to sleep tonight. I’m going to try to come see you again. I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re not getting my letters because if you are and you don’t reply I think that would be worse. Please don’t forget me, Evie. I need you to remember and I think I even need you to hurt the way I hurt so much for you. Please hurt for me, and I will fix you. Don’t really, though. Just feel good. Maybe you should think of other things. I hope you’re not hurting for me. I’m sorry that I even said that. Please sleep and eat for me and enjoy living and please take care of yourself. Please take the best care of yourself. I’m sorry I’m so tired, not making sense.
I love you.
I found these letters in the bottom of a dry cleaners bag on Dad’s side of the closet, late at night, the night before I flew to Boston.
It was early March.
My parents had told me they’d support me in my choice, on one condition. Before I told Landon, I had to spend at least eight weeks with Aunt Raina. Take some time to myself. Add an extra level of surety to my plan.
I’d spend some time with Raina—a Harvard-educated psychiatrist and my mother’s lifelong best friend—and then, if I still wanted to, I could come home and reach out to Landon. In the meantime, they’d told me, they were keeping watch on him, and he was okay. They had told him that they wanted us to take a break. If he respected their wishes, and he still wanted to, he could see me again in a few months.
When I found his letters in my parents’ closet, I knew that wasn’t true. I wailed and raged. My parents held me while I cried, while I lashed out and threatened them and lost my mind. Then they put me on the plane—because they felt they had to.