Dear Alphie,
Today was the Fourth of July. Remember when we used to swim in your pool with bomb pops dripping down our arms and faces while your dad tried to set up his homemade fireworks that never worked? We’d always end up going to the city’s show, sitting on the bridge with our legs dangling off as the bursts of colorful light reflected onto the water. And then we’d go back to your house and run around with sparklers, smiling like little kids as we ran through the grass. Then we’d stare up at the stars, mocking the romantic gesture that had absolutely no significance. And I’d end up falling asleep on your lawn chair and you’d move me to your couch where I wouldn’t be bombarded by mosquitos.
But today I had been sitting in the living room all day, Alphie, with a tub of chocolate ice cream in one hand and the biggest spoon in our silverware drawer in the other. Some sappy chick flick was playing on the screen, in flashes of crying and kissing and romance and heartbreak. You'd have called me pathetic. I can’t even remember what it was called, or what it was about. But somehow their happiness wasn’t quite transmitting.
My eyelashes mingled with my tears as they ran down my face. This used to be our day, Alphie. We loved patriotism and independence just as much as any other American. But then how did I end up here, covered in sadness and frozen dairy product?
I remember the day you died so vividly. I was getting ready to call you about being late to pick me up from my job at the pool, something so stupid, when the phone rang. Your mom. My chest heaved as I picked it up.
“Mrs. Walters? Have you seen Alphie? He’s late,” I said agitatedly. God, how I regret it.
“There’s been... An accident, Addy. On the bridge. They- they’re taking him to the ER,” your mother broke into sobs, Alphie, and she didn’t even know yet. That you would die. She still had hope. I know I did. But there were still tears in clouding my vision as I rushed over to the hospital.
They wouldn’t let me see you. “Only family,” the nurse had said, walking by in a rush to make someone else better. God knows they didn’t fix you.
I snuck in anyways. I had to see you, you were my family. I hope you can forgive me. But I snuck in and you were unconscious. The boy who had that adorable twinkle in his eyes when he smiled, the boy who could always get me to laugh, was barely alive. You had scrapes and bruises all over you, your face swelling. I held your hand as you took your last breath. I didn’t get to tell you how much I love you. I didn’t even get a goodbye.
You wouldn’t have wanted me to be sitting there on that ugly couch that you hated so much. So I got up, found my car keys, and just drove. Past the cemetery. And then, no surprise here, at your grave. You needed new flowers.
“Hey you,” I said. What was I thinking? I hadn’t come to see you since you died, 11 months ago, and I say “Hey you”? Sorry, Alphie. I’ve never been an expert in salutations.
“What’s going on? Ya know, up there? Oh, you can’t respond.” I was already sobbing at this point. But you didn’t hear it from me. “Well, Alphie, I came to say goodbye. I didn’t get to say it before. You were dead before I had even considered it. I loved you so much, Alphie, and yes I got mad about stupid things and complained and bickered, but I loved everything about you. Yes, I loved your freckles and your eyes, and the way your whole face crinkled when you smiled. But I also loved your stupid jokes and how you’d throw stuffed animals at me when I was acting ridiculous, or how you whispered, Alphie. I loved how you’d invite yourself into my house and my mom wouldn’t care because all you’d ever do was cook breakfast, or how you got me a bike because you were tired of having to pick me up because I refused to drive my own car, but still came to pick me up anyways. I liked how you danced at red lights, even when you thought I wasn’t watching. I loved your obsession with this stupid holiday that I absolutely hate, but I loved it when you were here with me. I loved you, all of you, and I still do, even though you’re not here to give the love to. I miss you so much. But I can’t let myself miss you, because you’re keeping me from life because it feels like living my life insults your deadness. A part of me died with you, Alphie, but not all of it. I need to keep the part that’s living alive. So, goodbye, Alfred James Walters. I loved you. I love you. But goodbye.” I switched out the flowers, Alphie, and then I walked away.
Much Love from your love,
Adelaide Lillian Moore
