I Have These Thoughts So Often

A Letter To An Old Friend

Well, here I am.

Once we talked a lot. There was indeed a time when we were inseparable. Another life, it seems. A time when we used to meet openly, and you'd show me your cards. I'd show you mine. I told you how to play your hand, and you told me how to play mine. But it seems to me that we were playing two different games. Perhaps it was the same game. I wouldn't know. Looking back, I didn't know what game we were playing. Why didn't I know? Because I don't know to play cards. I joined a game I didn't know how to play. I googled words to say, and I tried to look confident. But I never looked at the instructions. I knew what you weren't supposed to do, but I didn't know what you were. You knew. You tried to tell me. I told you I had tried all of that even though I hadn't. I figured that game wasn't for me, and I tried to throw my cards down. I tried to leave the table, and I tried to leave the casino. But you grabbed me. You grabbed me and pulled me away from the door, which I had not yet touched. You sat me down and said, "Just watch and learn" and I agreed. This is where the story gets messy. You lost a lot in that game. The gamble was too much, but you thought you had the better hand. You went all in, and you lost. You took a breath. "OK, I'll just, wait. I'll take a break." and you started to regain your skill. Your first loss took a toll on you. But it was ok because you thought you'd found the way. And then you lost again. I was expecting you to take a break and regroup. I was expecting this as much as everyone else at the table, and we thought you would shrug it off. You didn't laugh it off and keep going though. No one thought what happened, ever would. You threw down your cards and everyone gasped as they saw your horrible hand. They accused the dealer of being unfair, and targeting you. The dealer just looked on, as if he couldn't hear anything. He probably saw it every day. But we saw you head to the bar. You accepted a cigarette and a glass of liquor but that didn't help. You went around to find a man but that didn't help either. Finally, you gave up. I tried to stop you but like I said, I don't know how to play cards. And you ran out of the casino. It was never the same, after that night.

You see, when you committed suicide, this what I wrote at the funeral. You loved cards. I figured I could pretend you were still here, if I told the story in a different aspect. If I pretended it wasn't a death, and that you had just quit a game. But life is a game, really. There are no rules, however, and nobody wins. I realized that when I was writing. I thought to call it a tie, but that is what we call sugarcoating, and I know you hated that. In truth, life is not a tie. Life is a game where no one can cheat, so everyone loses. No matter how good your hand may seem, your bet gets taken away from you, until you don't have anything left. Your hand is really just a distraction. It distracts you from the fact that the dealer has all the good cards hidden under the table. It distracts you from the fact that the game is unfair, and it distracted me from the fact that I didn't know how to play.