The place where Ideas Go to Die

1

Dear Elliot,

Sometimes, when I have nothing else to do, I like to sit and think. I like to think about us, about what went wrong. About why the term 'best friends' turned into 'old friend', why we used to be closer than sisters, but I can't even remember the last time we talked. What happened?

Perhaps it was when you started hanging around Blake that things changed. We had both seen the destruction left by drugs, but that didn't seem to stop you from getting your hands on anything you could reach.

That might have been the point things got tough, but it wasn't the end.

What about that time you walked in on me fucking Tommy Cooper? That could have done some damage.

Maybe it was the last time you were at my house, when my dad came upstairs in the middle of the night and tried to touch you.

Maybe, just maybe; it was the time I rolled up to your foster home at 4 in the morning, a crying mess and covered in blood from where my mum had thrown a vase at me.

You had opened the door and shut it on my face. You were with Blake and his buddies, and I'm guessing you didn't want to be embarrassed by me.

I think that was the breaking point for me. I forgave you, I understood how much that relationship with those people helped you, but nothing ever felt the same.

I think that was the day I realised how much we had both changed.

We no longer had that easiness between us that had been so comforting, we no longer sat and talked for hours, no longer stole a few bottles or vodka or a few cans of beer from my dads storage and just sat and drink.

All you ever did was party almost every night, and leave me to pick you up at 4 AM because you were too drunk, or high, or both to know where the heck you were. All I ever did was stay holed up in my room, or someone elses room with a new boy to help me forget my abusive parents.

I think it was because we no longer had each other to rely on, we needed new ways to forget.

Anyway, Elliot. This letter will never leave my drafts folder of my email, but it feels nice to write it down and pretend I'm going to send it to you.

I hope with my whole heart you made it out of that town where dreams die, and didn't wind up pregnant at 16 like Nancy Groom, or end up dead like Lily Sanders.

Maybe you even fulfilled your dreams of going to university, or even tracked down your mother like you always planned?

Sincerely, your once best-friend,

Alex