Letters to Edmund

I

Dear Michael:

Hi.

Um...shit, this feels so weird.

Take a deep breath Alex.

Okay. Starting over.

Dear Michael:

I never thank you enough. Do I?

When we were in eighth and ninth grade you were in my technical drawing class.

And I hated you.

The first time I actually met you, you plopped right down next to me like you owned the freaking place, stole one of my brushes, and dirtied the white paint.

When I snapped at you and told you that you could have at least fucking asked nicely, you looked so surprised I almost laughed.

(I actually did, later on, many times)

Rhoda elbowed me and hissed my name through gritted teeth like I was a misbehaving toddler.

But you stuttered out a "can I please borrow your paint brush?" and took it hesitantly and with wide eyes when I said yes and just kept on painting.

I could see that you weren't used to people saying no to you.

Well nice to fucking meet you, I'm Alex.

When Rhoda started to like you I scrunched my face up and wondered what the hell was wrong with her.

The way she described you, you seemed like an absolute brainless fuckboy.

Made of innuendos and smirks and this horrible high school sex humor.

I still hated you.
.....

When it was the first day of school the next year and I saw you were in my classroom I didn't think much of it. When we had to sit almost next to each other I only rolled my eyes.

Did you know Monet is practically my favorite painter?

When the teacher wanted us to guess who painted the picture in the slideshow and what the name was, I immediately knew the answer. But I didn't raise my hand. Anxiety and all that.

But you did, and you said the name right. And I hated you some more. But was also begrudgingly impressed.
...

Somehow, we just kept on ending together. And we talked, and we drew.

I realized you were really smart, though you didn't really think so. Your grades are not the best. But the way you think is amazing, and you know a lot of things. Although you shut down, sometimes, when you start to talk about something you like.

I realized your humor wasn't what I thought it would be, and that your dry sarcasm is hilarious, and that you have one of the best smiles I've ever seen.

It was kind of impressive, when no matter the way the teachers picked the team, we always seemed to be on the same one.

We work well together.

We developed a system, your company became a whole new language.

The glances and the laughs and the raised eyebrows, the weird expressions and the inside jokes and the passing school supplies in between a tangle of earphone cables.

And I enjoyed your company.
....

You have a way, with worrying, that seems like you don't worry at all.

But you do.

I know you worry about me sometimes. Because you must remember the cuts Rhoda had on her arms. When you were in the same class that she was.