Dearest Violet

Dearest Violet,

I'm drinking whiskey, smoking the last 3 in my packet of 20 Mayfair, listening to David Bowie and writing this letter to you.It's 3am, and I know you won't believe that, because I was always the one who stayed in bed until you came and rolled me out of it, but I've been having trouble sleeping since you left.

I don't know why I started off like this, telling you about my reckless late night drinking and smoking. I guess it's because I don't really have anything to tell you. I don't know what to talk about now I'm on my own when I never really knew life without you in the first place. It was always Patrick and Violet, the troublesome two, the mischief makers, tweedledee and tweedledumb, I could go on forever. Mrs Elliot down the road told me the other day she thought we must of been twins in some past life, (you know her, the tarot cards and crystal ball type), and when I think about it, I can't recall a time we weren't glued to each other's side. That's why we have so many good memories.

The first one that stands out to me is our first day at school. Your mum tried to force you into one of those blue checkered dresses, and I could hear you screaming from my garden next door, where I was kicking our old football around. I always teased you that they could probably hear your protesting up in space, to which you would always say you were surprised they didn't hear my screaming when my mum pulled me in to scrub the mud off me.
We waddled in, weighed down by our school bags, and immediately let everyone know we ruled the sandpit. No-one messed with us. Those were good days, Violet.

In secondary school, things started to change a bit, but we still remained best friends. We got a bit of freedom in our teenage years, started to plan our futures. Even though I still wanted to be a footballer, you had your heart set on photography. It didn't stop you being an avid fan though. God, we lived and breathed football, Violet. Some of the best memories we had were during those games. The couple of England matches we went to were spent with me taking mental notes whilst you took photos on those countless Polaroid cameras.

Then, when our teams would play each other, we would sit on your parents sofa with a packet of Doritos and watch it together. You in your Crystal Palace shirt, me in my West Ham one. You would get so pissed when we won, you would storm off into your bedroom and wait for me to leave, but I could always count on you to climb through my window later that night and discuss the whole game with me. You could never stay mad at me back then, could you Vi?

Those teenage years also brought about the dreaded horror of puberty. Most people have it rough, Violet, but not you. You grew your hair so the shiny auburn waves fell down your back, just to where your hips flared out, making your body look even better. I know you hated your curves, but everyone loved them. Including me. Even those 'totally hipster' glasses you acquired added to that new aura you gave out.
You turned from scrawny, tomboy Violet, to cute, quirky, effortlessly beautiful Violet who could still kick my mates arse at FIFA if she needed to.

I saw these changes in you Violet, I saw you become more of a sassy, wonderful woman everyday.
I just didn't feel anything about them yet. And even when I did, I didn't act upon it properly until it was way too late.

Remember when you made friends with those two girls, Orla and Lucie? Sorry, but I hated them. They were part of the bitchy, sparkly, 'let's all go paint our nails and go to fuckboys parties' group, and they were trying to pull you away. It's understandable really. your looks combined with your confidence should have really added up to you being in that group. The girls wanted to be you, the boys just wanted you. Don't worry, I sorted the ones who made it public right out, so they wouldn't try anything on.

I never told you this, but I was outside practising my dribbling around the rubbish bins (glamorous) and I heard you and those girls. I remember Orla's annoying high pitched voice saying,
"I'll tell you something, I bet if your bestie Patrick came crawling into your bed looking for a bit of comfort you wouldn't kick him out, would you Violet?"
Your melodic laughter rang out over everyone else's, then you replied,
"Orla, no! Patrick's my best friend, like a brother to me. I'm sure he hasn't thought of me that way, so I can't think like that either, get me?"