In other dimensions Savannah would not be dealing with depression. Savannah wouldn't be planning to kill herself at the end of next month. In other dimensions Savannah wouldn't have met Charlie.
In other dimensions Charlie would be trying to talk t...
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CHARLIE
WHEN A SECURITY GUARD came up to us and told us to quiet down, we ventured to the park and found ourselves with seeds in our hands and birds flying around our bodies.
Savannah's body kept tensing up each time I raised my arm to put it around her shoulders, despite her being more relaxed around me — every time I touched her, her shoulders would jump.
I thought after the stunt we pulled she'd be more comfortable with me touching her but I guess we were back to square one.
We were sitting in silence for a moment as a pigeon landed on my hand, but then she turned to me, the dark curls on her head hiding behind her ears.
"I drink antidepressants." Her voice is quiet, barely there. She takes a deep breath and her eyes stray to the distance. I nod along but sit in silence as she gathers her thoughts.
"I started taking them two years back, when—" She chokes up and I don't know if I should take her hand or leave her be.
I choose to take her hand and watch as she heaves a breath into her lungs.
"I was always depressed, but I went to a therapist when my brother," Her eyes go to mine and I let her search my face for pity. But when she doesn't find it she finally finds the courage to continue. "My brother, he killed himself."
She looks away as tears well up in her eyes.
I catch the tension in her hands and feel it slowly wash away as more tears come down her cheeks.
Her crying is silent, short gasps of breaths and I wonder if she'd always have to cry hiding in plain sight.
"He wrote my parents a letter, and he wrote one for our little brother, but he didn't write one for me." Her words are short and cut, tears keep falling as she bites her cheek and I absentmindedly start drawing circles on her hand with my thumb. "Everybody got a letter from him except me."
I hear the anger, the betrayal under her tongue. It must be a painful little thing hiding everything under her heart, deep into her body.
"My brother still hasn't read his. I know he keeps it in the furthest drawer in his room and I know he hasn't opened it." Her confessions are silencing and I pull her hand closer to my lap. Ignoring the birds flying around us and screeching for more seeds.
"I can't believe he didn't write me a letter." But this time it doesn't come out in anger. She's hurt and grieving. The tears fall over her lips and she looks at her hand in my lap. "That's why I promised I'd write everybody in my life a letter."
I loll my head and watch as she studies my movements.
"So they don't have to wonder the why's and if's."
