My dearest S,
I can’t really explain why I still care so much about you. Why I listen so attentively when I hear you talk in English, why I have the dire need to turn my head when you walk into the room. Your voice is loud and jarring, priding itself in a tone of self-declared genius. It doesn’t matter what you say- as long as you think it , it comes out of your mouth, like a refined turd. You mistook my Salvadorean grandparents for gardeners- and after I corrected you, you still called them that. You called my mother a “b—-“- even after I argued she was only trying to protect me, you called my little sister “weak” and “dumb”- you even called my cat an a-hole! You’re racist and a narcissist and overall- the most immature person I’ve ever met. You can dye your hair and show as much cleavage as you please.
In the end, no one taught you how to control yourself. You’re a baby in a double-D bra, and spanx. I think you love to pretend that you’re some sort of enlightened despot. Oh, imagine that silly picture. An impudent baby sitting high on her throne of words, what will happen when it all comes crashing down? That’s right. You’ve never thought about that.
I could go on and on about all the terrible things you’ve done, and the images in my head at night. I could go on and on about how proud I was of myself that one day when I stood up to you.
But at this point in the letter, I want to stop boosting your already inflated ego, to address your “new” girlfriend, Erin. Oh pooh, there are a million Erins out there. If you happen to be a random Erin reading this, or anyone with a low self-esteem and naive optimism- read on. You need to, my sweet.
Erin, I’m not angry with you at all. In fact I only know about you because my neighbor told me my ex was dating a pretty blonde. And I guess, when I heard that, my body went into a state of shock. It was only two months since our breakup. And, she had asked out a girl on our soccer team (only because she was a lesbian, I assume) maybe a month before. I honestly thought… if she really cared about me as much as she said, it would take longer for her to heal. I know that it’s been almost a year now, and it still hurts me to look at her. I don’t want anyone to date me- until I feel like I can trust someone to love me again. I don’t date as a sport. When I do it’s because I feel that special bond with someone. I don’t want you to get hurt like I did, honey.
If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t change someone. No matter how much you change yourself in the process, they won’t change until they want to, or they need to. I tried to make her “better”. I only made myself worse in the process. Please, my sweet. Don’t wait, don’t make excuses for them. I know it’s hard. I know you love her. And she can say she loves you. But she said that to me too. And now look where I am.
Anyways, she told me she likes read-heads the most, so you and I were screwed to begin with. Take care, dear.
And back to you, S. Yeah. I would tell you to change somehow- but that’s a lost cause. So maybe my advice is… delete your nudes before you open your phone for your boy-toy (yeah, the one you broke up with me the first time for- and he is helplessly in love with you, I pity him) and don’t sit in front of me at an assembly. I don’t want to see that. And Erin- I’m sorry if I saw you too, I didn’t mean to look but the light was blaring in the darkness. Also about five other people saw.
So to both of you- take care! S, tell your parents I say hi and your little sister and dog that I miss them. And Erin- it’s better to be alone and happy than to be with company and at the brink of tears.
-Your dearest Annie