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Writing Prompt, The Second

So I've finished my second assignment. At first,  I was thinking about writing a letter to Sarah, but that seemed like a cheat, so I did the next best thing. I exposed all my deeply personal feelings to my high school crush. Enjoy!

Letter to someone who wrote in high school yearbook        906 words

Dear Keith,
    It’s been more than ten years since the last time I saw you. I’m a grown up now. I’m a woman. I have my own place, I pay my own bills, I set my own course. My hair is longer and my posture straight. All those things I just sensed something wrong with are defined now and strong, ready to stand up for themselves as I never used to.
    You told me once that you’d already seen your future. You’d had a vision. You were speaking in front of the congregation at your church and behind you was a blond woman that you recognized in the dream as being your wife, and I thought about dying my hair. I retorted that that was fine for you but I was never getting married and you said I was crazy. You were such a traditional thinker. You said a woman isn’t female if she doesn’t have a man; I said you had got to be kidding me. You bet me that I would be wed by the time I was twenty five (Incidentally, you owe me two hundred bucks.)
     But despite your difficulty with predictions, at least where I was concerned, you were one lucky boy. It seemed a contagious disease amongst the group of us to crush on Keith. First Beth fell, then me, then Sarah, then Erin. One by one we toppled over like a long string of dominos. And why? You weren’t particularly handsome. You had a big nose, gelled, half-shaved off hair, and braces. I can picture you now with your two toned nineties collared shirt and wonder what I was thinking. It’s almost funny.         In all fairness, what I excuse in myself as being a result of being young and stupid and not knowing what to do, I suppose I have to excuse in everyone. I can remember myself as I was as clearly as I can remember anyone else. It’s true that I was strange and quiet. And I did draw pictures along the margins of my notebook paper and write poems in my journal at lunchtime. I was shy, I was torn, I was absent from school at least twice a week. The reason maybe for all of it is simple: I was living in chaos. My parents were divorcing, my father was abusive and addicted to prescription drugs, my mother was working two jobs to keep us in shoes and white bread and wasn’t around to make sure my dad drove my sister and I to school. But of course, no one knew that then. They weren’t allowed to. It was an exercise in If No One Says It, It Must Not Be True. An old favorite in my family.
    You called one night when my dad had overdosed on Valium. My mom and I were holding him up and trying to move him out to the car because he had passed out. You wanted me to convince Elizabeth to come to some party you were having at your place, and that, there, in that moment, the divergence of our lives just seemed so stark. I was afraid my dad might die, you were afraid Beth might shun you. Maybe I wanted a piece of that peace. Maybe I wanted to be someone whose biggest problem was a guest list.
    I liked how you listened to me. I liked how you would ask me questions, and how I felt that if I could have put it into words, I really could have told you everything. You seemed to be tender with me. You seemed somehow genuinely interested. And that was why it hurt me so much when, after you’d moved, you just stopped talking to me. I couldn’t figure out what I’d done, and then after three months you got back to me and told me you were sorry to hurt my feelings, you just didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. Erin told you that she thought you liked me and you had to prove it wasn’t true. You hoped I didn’t mind? Oh, and you’d met a girl you wanted to date named Stacy. I assume she was blonde.
    You were the first friend I had who was a boy, and all of the sudden we weren’t friends anymore. Really, it was small. Things have since happened that make something as little as your asking someone else to dance seem too trivial to mention. I have been more blessed and more pained than I could have dreamed of when I knew you, and I’m beginning to really understand that the way things happen are the way they’re supposed to be. I have broken my own heart and God has sealed it back again, and I believe him when he says that his will is perfect.
    I hope that things have turned out as you would’ve liked. I hope that God has chosen you to be his vessel and you have submitted to him entirely. I hope that you do get to stand  in front of a congregation with a lovely blonde wife seated behind you with her ankles crossed. I hope that you prosper in faith and grow in humility and that you fulfill his purpose for you. I hope these things, and they are the greatest hopes I could have for anyone.
                                Sincerely,
                                Marianne


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