The First Letter

 To be honest, I’m not really sure what to write. I feel like it’s all a nightmare and that I’ll wake up to you with a goofy smile, a PBR (“The Nectar of the Gods”) in hand and ask if I had a nice nap. I feel like I’ll come into work and see you laughing with my boss with a cup of black coffee. I was never quite sure how you stomached the coffee here, but you always said coffee is coffee and it all tastes the same. I keep checking my phone to see if you’ve sent me screenshots of the funny conversations with your friends, to offer me a starbucks, or just come over during my shift at work to give me a hug when I was having a bad day. I remember sitting in your room while you pulled out your dad’s old guitar, telling me about the adventures it had been on and signing me a song. I remember you trying to hit the high notes of the BeeGees songs after going to Kroll’s diner on Saturday “mornings”. You always tried to convince me they were one of the best bands ever. Its the little things I miss, the things that you did that made me feel like I was everything. You were right, being together was the first time I truly didn’t feel alone. But, you did that for everyone, you made us all feel special. You were caring and compassionate, filled with empathy and eagerness to make someone smile. I know this “letter” per say is jumbled and unorganised, but I have too many things to say. My hands haven’t stopped shaking since the officer called me. I couldn’t process it. Your friend told me he almost asked if it was a joke. I even had a dream that you walked into our friend’s apartment building saying it was all a sick joke, and I ran up to you and finally got the hug I’ve been craving so much. I reread all of our messages, some made me laugh, and others made me cry. I’ve been playing the song you recorded for me over and over again. It’s the only way I can hear your voice anymore. Your letter you wrote me I’ve read and reread. I felt the indents caused by the pressure you put on the pen, the passion and emotion that went into it. I put it with your zip-up on the chair you always sat in. I can’t use the slippers you got me as I’m scared they will wear out, and I just stare at the shower gel I got you as you insisted you had ultra sensitive skin. I still have the tab open on my phone for the dermatologist I tried to get you to go to, but you told me I sounded like your mom. Alec, for the love of god, I hope you know how much I cared and will always love you. I miss you. And the messed up thing is now I will have to remember you for longer than I knew you.

Love,

Your Goober

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