Three days ago I was ruminating on something all day. This something was burning in my head and coursing through my blood. I stayed up late that night to write a letter – a letter that I never planned to send.
I woke in the morning and stepped on the coil notebook as I stumbled out of bed. It’s like the notebook was asking to accompany me to see my therapist that day. I shoved the notebook in my bag before I led myself to my car.
There was much to talk about at my appointment this week: how I felt about Match day (and the memories it brought back), my dream, my ruminating, and eventually this letter that got it all out of my head.
“Do you want to read it to me?” she asked. I hesitated. I don’t know, I thought… Except why else would I have been compelled to bring it. So I read her the letter.
“Are you going to send it?” She asked again, this time with a satisfied grin. I told her I had no intention of sending it.
And then we talked about that for a while too. As these appointments usually do, the subject changed multiple times, with thoughts fleeting back and forth, and back again. Before the appointment came to an end, her eyes fell back to the notebook on the table between us: “so, are you going to send it?”
“Yeah, I guess I could.”
“Good!” She exclaimed, jumping up from her seat like a giddy child. “Do you want an envelope – I can get you an envelope!”
She returned to the table and handed me the plain letter envelope and watched as I haphazardly tore the pages from the notebook. I felt an unrelenting urge to tidy the edges of the pages, to make the rough letter appear less ragged. But, I stopped myself. Sending it was enough – no need to waste energy on making it look pretty.
She watched intently as I stuffed the pages into the envelope and licked it shut. “Here, I think I have a stamp, too. Let me get it for you.” She returned once again to the table where she turned the envelope to face her, stuck the stamp in the proper corner of the letter, patted it with a smug satisfaction, and turned it back to face me across the table. I almost sensed her desire to address it for me, too. But before anything was said, she maybe thought better of it.
She really wanted me to send that letter. So, I placed it into my bag alongside the notebook and took it home. I waited until the next day before I addressed it and at that point I thought to forget about it. But then I thought of the generous envelope, and the stamp.
This morning as I approached the mailbox, I removed the various envelopes that needed to be sent, with thee tree mixed up in the bunch. I almost forgot about it, in fact, until the moment I placed them all through the slot.
Did I really want to send it? I guess it doesn’t matter now.
I walked away and briefly thought of the torn out letter resting in the hands of the receiver.
I wonder what she’ll think…
I Wonder if I’ll ever know…