Hannah,
I wonder what it’s like in your family’s home today. I guess I remember you were never too fond of Christmas, but it’s been ten months since you left and I keep thinking about your house. I wonder if maybe they picked something out for you. If they wrapped it and set it under the tree as if maybe, just maybe, today you’d come home. Maybe you’d walk idly through the door, grinning recklessly, saying, “Sorry, I’m late. I was in an accident, but I’m okay. I’m okay and I’m home.”
Your mother would cry. And Casey would hold you, half because she loves you and half because she wasn’t sure if or when you’d leave again. She’d hold onto you until her fingers grew tired and brittle. She’d hold on almost half as hard as she’s hung on this year. She’s a strong, girl, Hannah. And she’s very, very pretty. But sometimes, most days, she is very sad.
Do you remember Peter and Wendy? I think that is the absolute saddest story ever told. Imagine growing old without the person you love. Worse, imagine watching that person grow old without you. Casey’s like that, I think. She has to grow up without you now. We all do.
And I think I’ve known that I have to move on. That I have to stop holding on and shouting out your name in caves and creeks, hoping just to hear you echo back to me. But I can’t do that. I can’t pretend that I don’t live for you now. I can’t stop hearing you as my conscience, your small feet trailing in my steps. You shadow me, but I can’t catch you. I can’t sew you back to the soles of my feet, though you’ve consumed every aspect of my soul.
I realized that I’ve met someone like you, Hannah. She is heliocentric, she is the sun, constantly bright and beautiful and like moths to a flame, we follow, we swoon around her. I like this girl. And I don’t even mean that the way it sounds. I just. I want to listen to her speak. I want to make her laugh. I want to keep her, the way I never did you.
She is lovely and so I’ve become frightened. I think I have a fantastic fear of beauty. I guess I think that the prettiest people have racked the most chaos. I think the prettier you are, the crazier you must be. But this girl is different; she is a light without shadow, without any semblance of darkness. She is very much like you.
And I know that I go through phases with people. I’ve the most dreadful tendency of becoming quickly obsessed until I’ve solved what I once believed to be a great mystery. I guess I don’t like knowing everything. I like very much to think that there are still constantly things to explore. I am an adventurer and I seek the Great Perhaps.
I should tell you, though, that I am content. With my life, my grades, my job; I finally feel safe. And even though I’ve no real home, it doesn’t feel that way. My sister has become my very foundation, consistently grounding me; the very basis for my being. Andrea and Matt are my windows, always bringing light and warmth, and a place for my dreams to fly free. People like Sean and Lauren and Molly stack together, the shingles to a great roof. I think they are out of my reach, but from everything I’ve seen, I am well-protected and constantly in awe of their beauty. I do no live in a regular house with wooden walls and heavy doors, rather I live in the Sistine Chapel, in the pages of some urban magazine, everything is beautiful and I am the model soldier.
I used to have very silly dreams about myself. In high school, I always thought I’d fall in love and that’d be it. I thought I’d keep the same best friend all throughout school and we’d go to college together and live together. I never thought about work or studying. But life’s not like that. Things are different, and sometimes far from what I imagined. But I like the idea that not everything is out of my control. Most things, but fate, I think is somewhat cordial to chance. And because of that, I have Andrea and Matt and everything I could I ever need.
Except for you, of course. But we will find each other again some day. And I don’t mean that to sound as though I’ve brushed you off. I will wait forever if I have to. I will look for you in every life. And some day, we will be together on Christmas. You will walk through that door, no scars, no bruises, and that same silly grin. I believe in that day, but after everything I’ve been through, I’m almost certain that reality will far surpass my expectations.
So happy Christmas, Hannah. Wherever you are.
Lindsay
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December/25/2011
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