Dear Reno,Dear Reno,
It's been a while.
Sixteen months, in fact, since I had a real conversation with you.
When we graduated from the eight grade, we hugged goodbye, of course, like lifelong friends should.
The next time I saw you was five months later at a youth rally. I ran and sort of (well, TOTALLY) glomped you.... you smiled and hugged me back a bit. You seemed glad to see me at the time, if a tad embarrassed that I'd hugged you in front of your friend.
The rest of the day, I think we exchanged ten words, if that. Heck, I talked more with your friend from your new school whom I'd never met before than I did with you. The separation made me sad, because I didn't know what was wrong. I still don't know.
I'm going to that youth rally again this year. I hear you're going, too. I'll try to talk to you, I suppose. I'll even put on a fake 'cool' face at first, if it makes you forget your pride and remember all the years we spent as best friends.
Dear Tory,Dear Tory,
The very first day of our freshman year, you said hello to me. I could hardly believe you'd bothered- surely, I was bound to be a loner again, right? But we talked, and I was glad to find that we shared three classes.
You have no idea how much it meant to me to have a friend. We shared so many interests- we'd talk for hours.
Now, sophomore year, I feel like we're drifting apart. We have one class, English, but things don't feel the same. We talk in the mornings, but I feel awkward some times. And I mean bad awkward, not fun awkward.
I don't know why. Whenever someone says something mean about you, I still jump to defend you.
But.....I don't know. I really just have no clue.
Dear Tyler,Dear Tyler,
I know I've apologized to you about this dozens of times, and I know you've given me the typical male responses of "it's ok," "I get it," and "don't worry about it," just as many times. What bugs me is that I haven't heard a plain, simple, "I forgive you."
We met this past summer at the local campground. Well local for me, three hours away for you. Our short friendship began the way I have learned to meet awesome people while camping- on the swings. Swingsets seem to be a mutually agreed upon gathering site pyros, nerds, and dorks- my favorite crowds.
I'd been swimming, and, bored, walked down to the playground to dry off. You were there with your older brother, Joey, and your little cousin, DJ. Eventually, we all ended up on the swings, and soon enough Joey mentioned something to me.
I must admit ,at 17, with blue eyes, dark hair, and a tan complexion, I found him quite attractive. SO the two of us talked a while, and then I ended up on the swing between you and
Dear ______,Dear ______,
How can you justify years of gossip?
How can you justify making one of my closest friends feel so terrible about herself that she wouldn't go to school?
How can you live with yourself?
I think I've got a pretty good idea.
We all are. The difference is that you're so insecure about yourself, while at the same time so self-centered, that the only outlet you have is pushing others down below the imaginary level you've put yourself at.
Superficiality is the way you live your life, surrounding yourself with what your purposefully inadequate mind has allowed culture to tell you is beautiful.
I pity you. Truly I do. I try to pray for you, but it just pisses me off. I find it difficult, hen I walk y you in the halls or even hear your voice, not to turn around and black both your eyes. On second thought, I think I'll just break your nose. You wear so much makeup to cover up your lack of self confidence that no one would ever notice the bruises.
Dear Aunt Teresa,Dear Aunt Teresa,
How odd it is to think that I'm one of your last wishes.
How odd it is to think that such a simple little thing could change so many lives so quickly.
Cell division. That's all it is, really. Yet hearing that one word can flip a world upside down.
I remember very little abotu you. You were my mother's youngest sister, dear to everyone, with a heart of gold and bouncy curls to match.
When I say you, those curls were gone, chased away by the chemotherapy that the doctors said was your only chance. If they'd known what the outcome was gonig to be despite their efforts, I wonder if they would have let you keep your hair.
There never was a happy "she's doing well" period for you. Things flew downhill faster than an eagle in its mating dive.
I don't recall exactly when we visited you. It was late winter or early spring, I suppose, since my brother was very young.
Hospitals frightened me. They still do. Every time I walk in, all I smell is newness and death an
Dear Heidi,Dear Heidi,
I saw you at the 4-H meeting the other night. Your cast is down below your kneew now, but you're still on crutches. It's nothing new to you. You've been on them at least a third of your life.
Oh, how I wish it were different, but cancer doesn't pick and choose. It strikes at random, and when you were but a child it struck you a critical blow. You survived, but the metal rod in your leg wil lalways remind you of the past. Of how lucky you are.
Sympathy is something you don't want. That's not the way you are. You put on a mask of indifference, and most everyone believes that you really don't care. But anyone who knows you knows better than that. It's hard for you to admit it, but it hurts. Badly.
Now that you're back on crutches again, the pain is more apparent than ever. You don't have to be sad now for me to see the loneliness. When I last saw you, I ran up and flung my arms around you, becuase it's hard for me to see you looking so distant and jaded.
Don't let them get to
Dear Great-Grandma,Dear Great-Grandma,
There are so many questions I have for you. I know very little about you. You were one of the last full blooded Cherokees alive. You had something-teen children; tons of twins and a set or two of triplets, I think.
If I remember correctly, your 'white' name was Bridget. just like me. You're my namesake, you know.
Painting was a specialty of yours. You were a pretty well-known artist among your peers. The only piece of your work I've ever seen is the fan in my room. It's a hummingbird against a picture-perfect, bright blue sky, and its' beautiful. When I was little and I got scared, I would creep across my bedroom, take it off the shelf, and set it on my windowsill where I could see it. When I looked at it I always felt like you were watching over me.
I still do.
Dear Llama in a BoxDea Llama in a Box,
You're so fantastically quirky.
I miss talking to you. Your comments always made me smile.
I can't really remember anything specific to mention here. How are you? Have I told you your are is AMAZING lately? 'Cuz it is, and I don't think I have.
Have you read Paul the Pig recently? Teehee. Paul has such awesome adventures.