Dear Anne

Letter #12

Dear Anne,

I did not like the tone of your last letter. Are you dumping me? I'll remind you, you're the one who contacted me in the first place. I responded to you. I don't ordinarily respond to emails from people I don't know. I answered yours only because it seemed to stick out, to call out to me. So, are you dumping me or what?

You are the first person I think about each morning when I wake up. I go to my laptop first to find your message. If it's not there, it ruins my entire day. Remember that, Anne. You mean so much to me, even after only one meeting. Don't empty my life by leaving me. I dislike your short letters and crisp tone.

Or maybe I'm reading you wrong? Maybe it's me and not you. Am I reading more into your letters than you intend? Ok, it's all my fault. I get it.

Everything is all my fault. It's that way from when I a small boy. My father played the blame game with me, particularly after my mother's untimely death. He shut down completely and treated me as though I were the problem. Ok, so I was a problem. I wouldn't do what he wanted, wouldn't live my life under his dictatorship. Maybe it changed me, made me the man I am today—defiant and unruly. I refused to live under his thumb. You get that, don't you?

I was a fun-loving child. When my mother was alive, there was laughter and good times. She brightened my life. A dark, furious cloud hung over father and I after her death. He changed; I changed. We were like a push-me/pull-you; both going in opposite directions.

It doesn't make me a bad person, Anne. I know I'm changeable and moody most of the time. Don't say you can't love me because I'm unpredictable. And don't write short emails—I mean don't talk abrupt to me. Ok, I cling to you. You are like solid ground for me. I yearn for stability. Give me that, Anne dear. Please.

Corey Clairmont