Sweet Adaline

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The entries thinned as I came towards the end of Adaline's diary.  The light outside dimmed from the clouds that bled in from all sides, consuming color's clarity. Like a stain of absence that swallowed the sky, there was nothing distinguishing dark from light. Night or day, it was all the same, as rain faintly drifted from the firmaments of grey vacuity.
I laid down the book, wondering what she'd been doing from the moment I'd left to speak with my mother over coffee, until now. The air was chilled, more than was usual for these monsoon nights. Somehow the day was lost, as if time slipped past while my head was buried in page after page of handwriting that grew more and more indecipherable.
Fourteen to fifteen was a difficult year, so it seemed. She was no more the girl that she was a year earlier, but no more a woman than she is now. She isolated herself after Foster left. She talked to nobody, not even him. Jack became cryptic in their every encounter. He'd pick her apart with his meticulous stare, as if there was something she'd hid from him. Something hidden but plainly obvious there between them. It stood out clear as Day. But despite what she knew, and despite what Jack thought, Adaline stared blankly back at him, and she'd glare. As the year grew on her, more often she'd just walk away.
Foster did write to her. He wrote as often as once a week at first. But nothing returned to him. He continued to write, but less and less until the letters became thin afterthoughts. Two or three paragraphs at most, by the end of the year. He went three months from his next to his last. In that letter was written a familiar chorus and a medium weight black pick. It was worn badly from heavy use, frayed and serrated along the edge. The tip was chipped off and a crack had begun to run up it like a fault line. After the lines of that song, he wrote from the heart. It read,

"I don't know why you never write. I know why I still do. Maybe it's crazy, but I think it's for the same reason. I promised you I wasn't gonna let go of you, Adaline. Maybe that was unfair of me. I think, maybe what you need more than me hanging on and sending you all these letters reminding you of that promise, is for me to let you move past me. You've been through a lot. I also know that it's not over yet. (Not for either of us.)
"I'd tell you I will always be here for you. Well, ok, I will. At least in as many ways as I can be. But I need some kind of peace. You felt the same thing I did that day when I sang this to you. I know it. But for how long did it stay that way? Not the whole time. I'm pretty sure of that. I felt like everything was perfect. But then, something changed. It was as if nothing ever happened between us. It just felt like you weren't completely "there" with me.    
"Feelings aren't always what they seem, I know. Believe me, I know. And they're not as strong as in all the movies and stories and so on. For instance, I still love you, but I wonder if it's really you, or just this idea of you that I keep in my mind that I love so much. So, how Wesley did it in the Princess Bride, I don't think I'll ever know. Maybe it's just like I have. You get something in your head, like, 'I found the greatest love of all time', and it just sort of sticks. So who knows what any of this is anymore.
"It's unfair, though. It's so unfair. So I guess I don't know if this is more for my closure or yours. I'm telling myself it's for both of us. I don't imagine I'll ever get over this feeling that I'm totally throwing away this thing that, if I just wait a little more patiently, can happen again. It really hurts to think I might be.
"The pick is special. I've played one song with it, and that's all. I've played it literally more times and more ways than I can count. I guess that's sort of OCD of me. Well, you know me. If the shoe fits. Anyway, it's your pick now. It's not much, but I can't use it anymore. It's only good for one song, but I can't do it anymore. It cracked, like my heart, so I'm putting it down. I just finger pick now, make-do without one. Guess that's a metaphor for surviving without having to feel.
"Don't worry though, I'll be just fine. So will you. You're a tough girl. A survivor. Not to mention, you have a real kick ass guitar you can always turn to, and should. Music is the language of the soul. Playing it is communicating to ourselves. Our deeper selves. It's the only gap worth bridging, as far as I'm concerned. It transcends, Adeline. The song I wrote you is in that pick. I hope it's still in you. Don't be one of those girls that turns away music because it reminds you of someone lost. Let that stay a part of you, please. It still hurts me to hear it, but it's my only link to you any more. I need that. Please help me to keep it alive.
"You were my first true love. I'll always remember you Adaline, and I'll always miss you absolutely. Good Bye.
"Sincerely, Foster"