The Letters

 Here I am once again. The little red notebook sits in front of me staring at me. Its nonexistent eyes looking to my cold soul. The book is waiting for answers from me. Hell, I am waiting for answers from it. Only this little red notebook can bring me, no, us peace once again.

Nothing ever seems right any more. Ever since that cold winter night, when my cell phone brought me from the peaceful world of sleep, I have been here, at this spot. This spot of staring at the little red notebook you left behind for me to read. Why you picked me, I'll never know. You haven't told me yet so I'm sure you never will. You weren't the type of person to be straight up. Maybe that's why it ended the way it did. To be honest, that is another thing I will never really know.

This isn't the first time I have read this little red notebook. Nor is it the second. Its the third time. I hope its the last time. I want to so badly know why you did it and deep down I know its in this book. Its just a matter of reading in between the lines. You were always good at games like this. Always wanting people to guess what you were thinking. Is that what pushed you over the edge? The fact that no one understood you. Cause I understood you, or at lest I think I did.

We were best friends ever since preschool. We did pretty much everything together up till that night. I guess that there is some closer knowing you spent your last night with me. Of course, if I would of known that would be my last good-bye, I would of hugged you longer. I would of made sure to whisper to you how much our friendship meant to me. Maybe then, you would still be around.

I know, its crazy for me to think that by hugging you more or saying how much you meant to me would change your mind. After reading this little red notebook the first time, I knew this was something you had been thinking about for awhile. Still, a girl can hope, right?

A girl can hope that her best friend was still around. Hope that she could of changed the past so that it was full of joy and beauty just for you. Hope that she could change your feelings, beat up the bad, prove the good. Bring balance to you. Hope. Hope. Hope. Its like a broken record in my mind. The word repeating each night I fall asleep. It repeats as I wake, shower, eat, and go about my day. At school I dream of hope for you and every time I see one of them I feel like slamming my hand into a locker. The rage boils inside of me. I'm a teapot ready to be tipped.

But yet, I guess I am just as much to blame. I should of noticed all the signs but I had been so caught up in my own world that I put you on the back burner. No good friend would of done that to you. When I saw the way they treated you, I should of punched them in their pretty little faces. I can see your face already. The way you would laugh if I had done that. I'm sure you would have been rolling on the floor. I know I would have been. Of course after I placed my hand in a bucket of ice. Remember, I don't do well with pain.

I hear it now, your laugh. Its so sweet. Almost like honey dripping from the comb. Your like a bee really. Pretty to look at. Sweetness was made from you but when someone stepped on you, you would fight back. Leaving a nasty little wound. I would always call you Bee because of that. I'd call out in the hall to you.

“My little Bee, fly this way.” You would turn around, your wild curls wrapping around your body. A huge smile, bigger then the sky, would cross your face. Like always, you would take off running towards me. Calling out to me as well.

“My little bloom, I'm coming for you.” The two of us would clash together with giggles of joy. Other would stare at us like we were from the nut house but we didn't care. We knew that you and I were made to be best friends. God had put us here for that reason and yet I failed.

Had God seen what would happen to you? I ask myself that every night. Did God know that after almost eleven years of friendship that you would still feel unwanted? Did God believe that I was suppose to be the one to save you? Cause if he did not only did I fail you but I failed God too. Everyone says that God has a plan. What was the plan for us? They say your death was meant to teach me something. What are you trying to teach me? My little Bee, what are you trying to teach me. I have a hard time seeing a lesson here other then I was a bad friend. But that is not a lesson you may be saying. That is a point and its a fine point I may add. A point that should have been pointed out to me in the start.

Maybe then I wouldn't have to sit here reading this little red notebook. I could stop asking God questions I know will never be answered. This blame would be gone. My dreams would be peaceful. In the school hallways I could call out “My little Bee, fly to me,” and you would run towards me. Our bodies becoming one in a hug.

Again, God has ended that chapter for me. Now its just the little red notebook and me. Each of us staring at one another. I can feel those nonexistent eyes narrower at me. I look away, the tears well up in my eyes. The little red notebook has won once again. My eyes move to the window.

Its been a year. One whole year since my cell phone woke me from a peaceful world of sleep. Its snowing, just like that night. The ground is blanketed by a white sheet. Not even deer prints can be seen. Its beautiful, just like you were. Just like you are. Even as a angle I am sure God granted you with beauty.

The sky is full of stars tonight. When I look up at them I can see you. No, I promise I am not doing drugs. I see you in the sky as each little star. Even the full moon is you. If God is everything, so are you my little Bee.

The little red notebook catches my eyes again. I won't let it win this time. With full force, I push the cover up. You would chose a hardback notebook. You never did enjoy the corners being bent on your notebooks. I guess you could say you were even a little OCD about it.

I can picture you right now, standing in the book store. You are looking around at each notebook. Studying each to make see if they live up to your need. You needed a notebook that could hold up in cool and wet weather, since some of the letters were wrote outside. A notebook that could hold being moved around the city, through the hallways at school, and even to my house. Something that would hold up over the years. After many minutes of looking at each book you come across this one. Its small enough to fit in your backpack. Hard enough to hold up against being moved around. The pages won't rip easy. This is the one. Slowly you walk up to the front of store and pay for the new little red notebook.

I'm sure you pulled your black and red hat back on, since I know it was cold that day. Cause that was the day we meet up at the coffee shop by the book store. You said you needed to buy a new notebook for class so we both agreed to meet at the coffee shop for a study session before the big test the next day. I remember you walking up the shop. You had your red hair straight that day. It looked good under the hat. I watched as you looked both ways before crossing the street.

When you stepped into the shop we both smiled as we saw each other. I told you how awesome your red jacket was and you informed me that my boots were killer. The next few hours we laughed and talked about math. How was I to know that at the book store you picked out this little red notebook for your letters. Letters that would be left to me and me only after your death.

Your death was hard. Still is hard for most of us. Others have moved on but I haven't. I don't see me moving on anytime soon. The cover of the little red notebook is open and there is the front page. There isn't any writing on it. Just a drawing. Its of one lone snow flake falling from the sky. You were always a great drawer. I still have many of the doodles you made for me in class. I have them hanging up by the photos of us. There is whole wall in my room with nothing but you and me on it. I sometimes find that looking at it is the only way I will get through the day.

At the bottom of the page is a another little doddle of us. Its just stick people but I can tell its us. The one has wild hair while the other is tall, like me. The doodle looks like you are whispering something in to my ear. I wonder what you were thinking when your drew this picture. I wonder it every time I look at the doodle.

I can almost feel the book winning again but I won't let it. I push on, turning the page from the doddle to the first piece of writing. Its not a writing to any one. Its not one of the letters. Its nothing more then the words “To you.”

I'm guessing  you mean to mean me. To me. I still don't understand why you picked me. Most kids would write to their moms or dads or even both. The only thing I can think of is you chose to write to me cause we were sisters. Even if we were not of the same family we were sisters. I sigh. Yes, we were sisters.

I let my fingers slip under the page and push it forward. The next page is the one that really means something. Its the first letter. The thing that started this whole book. The reason you brought this little red notebook that day before our study session. I begain to read the first letter.