4.

4. Unopened letters1

She sat in the library at lunch. At break, she had half of her sandwich, her packet of crisps, and her drink. She shared her chocolate with the hyperactive girl from the year below who had attempted to befriend her, nodding occasionally to mock attentiveness. She ate the casing of the chocolate, then the layers that lay within. Her sandwich was eaten with the same manner of destruction: first the side crusts, then the whole crust from the top or bottom of the loaf, and then slowly the rest of the half. Then she insisted she had homework, vital coursework due the next day, some friend in a crisis who begged for advice, and made her way to the library. 2

She listened to music there. She typed e-mails to friends she’d never met before. Sometimes her and her father would exchange a few lines, telling each other to hang in there – it was almost time to go home. Time to be free of the chains. Throw down the shovel. Stop pretending to be people they never could be.3

I watched her once as she typed an e-mail she saved to her drafts. She reread it and retyped it so often that I remember it verbatim.4

'I wish I could say that it was too much. I wish I could say that this was out of our control. But I don’t like lying. I’ve been doing it for my whole life, and that’s been too long. And too tiring. I’m too tired of this. Maybe I’ve not had enough of life, but I’ve had enough of its pains. Thank you for everything you’ve done, I’m sorry for all I’ve put you through, and I love you always.'5

That was all it was. Size 10, Garamond font, dark purple in colour. Saved to her draft e-mail folder. I turned away then. I ran. I ran away from this deep personal pain. I ran faster than I ever could, into a dark place where she couldn’t see me, and I could forget that she existed. 6

But I never could.7

She was at the back of my mind everywhere I went. Eventually, my life became wrapped around her. Her pain caused my heart to throb slightly, but I never truly felt it. Her happiness – rare as it was, it did come along in its due course – made the sun shine brighter and the leaves greener. I saw its effects, and I knew how it felt, but never did I experience it. I felt safe, protected from them, and had a sense of grim satisfaction that I could watch this film of her life, and know the plot was in a far-off reality that I was not a part of.8

Life was cruel, and I knew it. She felt it.9