Letters 2002-2003
by Jessica Miele
JULY
dear kay,
we saw amazing fireworks in DC, wondering about terrorists and riding the hot and sweaty metro. the whole city lit up and i imagined each pop was alien warfare, our atmosphere breaking and exploding their missiles into fiery flowers for crowds of spectators. we spent fifteen rushed and precious minutes before closing in the national gallery with art and sculptures. we walked to a zombie movie, broke our diets, and slept entangled in miles of sheets and arms and hands-on-hearts. he made his own beef curry with a hundred mixtures of spices and i smelled each one. we put on funny shoes and i bowled a 57, then we drank years-old scotch and the drunk was haunted, inspired. we ate at the four seasons, pondering the lives of the rich & making eyes at the waitress, ordering dishes with unspeakable prices and sitting wide-eyed and wordless eating them. a man played piano beside our table and he ordered bloody marys while i drank my ten dollar coke. it was a good visit; and i just wanted to let you know i'm back.
—mariana
SEPTEMBER
every relationship is its own continent, you know, a sovereign nation no one else will ever understand. we set up a sophisticated set of laws, rituals, holidays; each even has its own language. some flourish, some unravel into civil war.
—tyler
it only takes a flashing memory to send my whole body into shivers — i dream of what your face looks like up close, or how your clothes smell at night.
i want to sit beside each other in underwear, digging our forks into big bowls. i want to make love at six in the morning and have the time mean absolutely nothing again. i want your hands on my hips and i want this cold cold cold feeling out of my body. i don't know how to medicate this hole.
i am pressing at my favorite bruises like they're proof. these weeks are the price and knowing you is the gift.
—mariana
i got high and looked into your gem eyes and held my breath and thought about how lucky and unlucky we are.
honey, sting.
—tyler
DECEMBER
my favorite thing about you is if you were here, listening to this guitar solo right now, and i nodded or pointed towards the stereo with some part of my body, you'd listen.
—tyler
it's so quiet here. that's not what i mean. there are pots clanging in the kitchen, there are sirens and city sounds, talking. but there is an unbearable stillness here, right here, right in front of me, the space where you are not, i'm diving head first into it, i'm swimming, i'm choking.
—mariana
JANUARY
Mari,
I am worried about you. Love can’t fix anyone, you’ve got to fix yourself.
Be happy.
Take care,
Kay
APRIL
i wish i could be angry, instead of this. this is like a cancer, it spreads through every cell, taking over, and your whole body surrenders to it. anger is isolated and clean, perfectly manageable, you can amputate it and put it away somewhere.
—m.
i don't know how to feel except to just let it hurt. i can't control it so i do my best to wait it out, and let it go. always be letting go, mari.
—tyler
JULY
t:
if you wanted me, you'd be here.
—m.
Jessica Miele is pursuing a BFA at Emerson College in Boston. She is working on her first collection of short fiction.