Letters For You

Today

Describe a day, any day in your life Tuesday, November 14th,2017

By Emily Davis

Today is our anniversary. Today, four years ago, you kissed me after your soccer practice. Four years ago, I looked at you and said finally. You took me to dinner, IHop. You were still wearing your soccer uniform when you dropped me off at my place. Four years ago, on this very day, I talked to my mom about you for hours. I just couldn't stop. "You love him," she said. She was right. I loved you way before that day. I never had the chance to tell you that. I loved you since you bought me a flower for Valentine's day the year before. Maybe you did too. I'll never have the chance to ask you. Four years ago, I went to bed as happy as I could be at the time. I knew then that you would change my life. I knew you would change me, but I couldn't have said how much.

Today, three years ago, we had my place all to ourselves. We spent the evening naked, did all sorts of things. We ate too much, we mixed ice cream and popcorn. You made me watch the entire Lord of the rings collection and I made you watch High School Musical again. We drank beer. God, I hated it. I still do. The smell is horrendous and let's not talk about the sparkliness of it. Don't look that word up. I made it up. We spent the night talking about all sorts of things. From our lives, to the future, to our beliefs about OVNIS. We had wonderful, wonderful sex. We were growing more confident every time. It was getting better every time. I was falling more in love with you every time.

Today, two years ago, I would have never guessed it was our last anniversary. You had just gotten your driver's licence and you had begged your dad to lend you his car for the evening. Did you ever tell him what happened in his car that day? I bet you didn't, he would have beat the shit out of you so badly. We drove to a lake. You had brought a tablecloth and a picnic basket full of food and drinks. We let the radio play and ended up sitting on the top of the car, watching the stars trying to identify constellations. I'm pretty sure we made more up than found actual ones but, in that moment, it didn't matter at all. Remember the look on my face when you asked me if I wanted to go swim in the lake? You ended up dragging me, undressing the both of us as we grew closer to the shore. I think we spent nearly an hour into that freezing water. You started to regret your spontaneous idea when you remembered that you didn't have any towels. I forced you to get out first to check if your dad kept blankets in his trunk. Thank god, he did. I was so mad at you for making me do this, you have no idea. I was so afraid someone would come and ask us to get out and we would have to admit we were naked. We stayed for a while in your father's car after that. Warming up. Warming the other one up. Did I ever tell you that your dad got rid of this car? I almost told him that he couldn't but I would have had to tell him what we did and I just couldn't bring myself to it. Someone else now sits on the backseat where we had sex on our last anniversary. Today, two years ago, was the last time you ever bought me flowers. A dozen of mixed roses, what you always got me. I'll never forget. I could never look at a rose in the same way again.

Today, last year, I was in Italy. I didn't leave my hotel room all day. Which is probably what we would have done. But I was alone. It was only four months after the accident. Four months after I had lost you forever. My mother called to tell me I should celebrate you. I told her to fuck off. Literally. I watched Lord of the rings, crying at every scene because the only thing I could picture was you, sitting beside me, reciting every line, laughing when I would tell you to shut up. I watched High School Musical and cried again because you weren't there to sing Troy's part or Sharpay's. I took a cold shower, trying to recreate the cold freezing lake. I cried at the thought that I would never have to chance to get caught having sex with you in dirty water. Or in your father's car. I cried because your dad got rid of the car. I cried looking at the picture I took of you with your roses. And the one we took of the stars. Last year was the only time that even Shania Twain couldn't help me. I cried even more listening to her sing the words that reminded me of you. I called your mother who didn't understand why today was worse than the others. I ended up falling asleep from all the crying with your mother still on the phone singing the songs she sang to you when you were little. I fell asleep hearing the words that reminded her of you.

Today, I am here. I am here and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to feel. I feel so alone. So lonely. So sad. I called my mother earlier. She told me the same thing she did last year. "Celebrate him, love. Remember him." So maybe I'll go to the lake. I won't swim in it tough. It's even colder than two years ago. But I'll go and I'll look at the sky. I'll look at the sky and try to identify shapes in the clouds. Maybe I'll go to the florist. I'll buy two dozen of mixed roses. One for me. And one for you. I'll drive home and I'll go see you. I'll give you your roses and I'll sing you songs. High School Musical songs. Shania Twain's songs. I'll sing your mother's songs. I'll sing the words that remind me of you. Because I am not afraid of remembering you anymore. I am not afraid to say your name anymore. I will celebrate you. I'll celebrate us. It's our anniversary after all. It's our day. Ours. Forever.