Letters I've Written, Never Meaning To Send

Thursday

John,

Today was the day I drank to forget your name.

Not just your name, but everything about you. Your smile. Your laugh. The name of your first dog. The haircut you had back in fifth grade. The treehouse we spent hours upon hours in throughout middle school. The Death Cab for Cutie poster on the ceiling above your bed.

Subsequently, I forgot my name too.

It had been an accident, really. I had drank more than I had ever drank before, but I could still remember the color of your eyes. The way your hair curled at the ends. The chip on your tooth no one noticed unless they were looking for it. The scar on your forearm from when you fell on a rock when we were playing in the creek behind my house.

So I drank another shot. Ten minutes later I could still remember your middle name. The hamster we had bought together freshman year. The time we went ice skating and we kept falling down. The sheets we had hung from the ceiling to give it an Indian effect.

Another shot. I could still remember your niece's fifth birthday party when you shoved my face in the cake. The time you made me hot chocolate and burnt your hand on the mug. How terrified we had been when we were home alone and the power went out after a horror movie marathon. When we had gone to the circus and you got chased by a goat as I rolled in the hay laughing.

Another shot. I could remember your favorite color was blue. Every shade of blue, but preferably teal. The time we had watched the Super Bowl and you had jumped up when your favorite team won, spilling the chips and salsa all over my lap. The first time you had held my hand in the hallway at school as your girlfriend. How everyone had called us Joane. A terrible couple name, one we had laughed at for weeks.

Another shot. I could remember the time we went snorkeling and you cut your ankle on the reef. The time we had started our own football team with the other kids in the neighborhood, playing against the kids from the other side of town. When you had tried to make a cake for my birthday, but it ended up making me sick. You had stayed with my the entire night, holding my hair back as I threw up in the toilet. That was the last time I ever let you bake a cake on your own.

Another shot. The memories were starting to blur, but I could still remember your name. You know whose name I couldn't remember?

My own.

Even when I had no idea who I was, I could still remember you perfectly. How pathetic is that? You're more of a priority to me than myself.

Two shots later and I had passed out. I'm writing this to you on Friday morning and god do I have a headache. My head is pounding and I regret trying to forget your name. There's no wag I could ever forget everything about you. You were the best part of me.

-Jane