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Words of Hope

To Chris

That's what it says. To Chris, two words only, written on the envelope in Street's surprisingly beautiful handwriting. Maybe he was trying hard so it'd look nice. I mean, it's not an everyday letter, at best it's a never-day-letter that nobody will ever read. Now I have to.

My hand is shaking as I pull out the paper. It's a long text, half a page, handwritten. At first, curved and carefully placed letters, later then they get narrowed and sloppy. At that sight I want to laugh, but at the same time a tear drops to the paper.

I blink hard, and when my sight isn't blurred anymore, I start to read.

I don't know how to start this letter. Probably with the date? It's the 24th of May 2018. You're in the hospital with a broken leg and I'm at home. Alone. I don't know when you read this and I hope you never will, of course, but ... there's something I have to tell you. Many things, actually. I'm not so good with words, so I'll make it short. I used to flirt with you a lot because, well, that's who I am. Then I stopped it because we actually became friends. Right now, I'm not so sure how I feel about you. But if you read this letter, then I'm dead, so I can't be embarassed, right? So I can tell you. I don't know how I will look at you in a couple of years, but right now, I'm pretty much in love with you. Just wanted to say that. And that you're the best friend I ever had.

Love, Street

As this wouldn't be enough, there's more, written with another pen. It's black too, that's why I didn't see the difference at first, but it's there.

P.S. Now it's August. We're about to go on that undercover cruise mission. I just read my letter again and I'm embarassed as fuck, but, well, there is something I want to add. If you care to know. Whoever you think I'm dating at this time, I'm not. Simply because I love you. Always have and always will. Just thought you oughta know.

What's to say to that?

First, I let the tears flow, but then the grief and love gets replaced by anger and frustration pretty quickly. I throw the letter against the wall and wish it had more weight. I hit Street's locker with my fists, treating it like a boxing sack, over and over and over again until there's blood on my knuckles.

I loved him and he loved me. Now he's dead. And I wish I was dead, too.

I think back of that day in the hospital, when I broke my leg and Street came to visit me. I remember telling him that one day he will faint and I will catch him with my arms, and suddenly, all the strengh is gone. I sink to the ground. I wasn't there to catch him, to save him. It's my fault he is gone, I'm the reason I'll never see him again, hear his voice, talk to him, joke around with him. Kiss him. The reason he's dead. That's too much to bear. Too much.

Drrt. Drrt. Drrt.

I almost overhear my phone ringing. I don't wanna speak to anyone right now, but I still take a look at the display. Unkown caller. Great. Not with me, not today.

Ringing stops. Then starts again. Stops, starts again, until I almost throw my phone at the wall, too. To prevent it from the damage I force myself to pick up.

Remaining silent.

"Hello?", a young woman says. "Do I speak with Christina Alonso?"

I breath hard, not able to say anything.

"Hello?"

"Yes. That's me"

"Hello, Ms. Alonso. This is the Jane-Wilson-Hospital of Pasadena, California. Are you a relative of Jim Street?"

They found his body, that is the first thought coming to my mind. And one moment later: But then, why did she say hospital?!

Hospital. Hospital is for sick and injured people. Not for dead ones.

"N-no, not really, I, I know him though", I stutter.

"Well, fair enough, he put you down as his emergency contact", the woman says in a friendly voice. "He just got in, he was moved over from Mexico. Apparently a young fisher, well, fished him out of the water in the harbour, early in the morning. Barely alive then, but now his condition is stable. Heavy back injury and shoulder wound, but, well, he'll recover totally. Is even concious now. If you want, you can visit him, just be aware of our schedules, we ..."

The rest fades. I don't hear her words anymore, my thoughts are too loud and emphatic.

Street.

He's not dead. Not. Dead. They found him, he'll recover, he's fucking alive.

Oh, god, I love him. I love him, I love him so much and he will live!