Letters to Terrance

Dear Terrance,

You turned your phone off again. I know how this goes. I brace myself to not hear from you again for weeks or months but please know that I keep my phone in my pocket and your ringtone is “I Like Me Better” by Lauv. I'll be texting you that I love you knowing I will not hear back until you feel at least somewhat safe in your own skin again. It’s okay. I can wait. Although I wish you would let me, if not me, then anybody, hold you through it. I would drop everything I’m holding in my arms to make space for you in them. I am here to be guard rails so you can brace yourself as you navigate the roads in your mind where the street lights have burnt out.

Dear Terrance,

I don’t know what it was like to grow up in foster care but... I promise... I will always be your family.

Dear Terrance,

I know you grew up having to cry on your own shoulder but if you ever feel open to it, my shoulders are incredibly dry. Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor.

Dear Terrance,

Did you know there are people who call each other every day? Sometimes they talk about the way their hearts have turned into bombs, ticking with every tear that falls onto their shoes, slowly turning cogs inside of themselves knowing the time to blow is coming. Sometimes they talk about the way their dog dances a silly dance when they’re about to get a tasty little treat. Sometimes, friends call each other and only talk about how they have nothing to talk about but perhaps the fact that it’s a bit windy out. Sometimes they talk about what they had for dinner or how they laid in the grass that day or how there was a spider sleeping peacefully in its webby bed in the corner of their bedroom when they found it, studying its unusual colors and the structural integrity of its web. Aren’t spiders such fascinating things? The way they up and move, continuously to the next place and the next place and the next and it must be exhausting to feel like every home you have will never be your home. Anyways, ahem. The spider… I killed it.

Dear Terrance,

It’s me again. I haven’t given up on you.

Dear Terrance,

I know you only lock yourself away from everyone because living in the dark is easier. Turning the lights on and realizing your own life is full of furniture you’ve never seen before and the dishes are dirty and there are red stains on the floor and the tv doesn’t work and how do we fix everything all at once? Sometimes I leave the lights off too.

Dear Terrance,

I’ve been thinking about it and.. things can be fixed.

Dear Terrance,

Your laugh feels like a cork in a wine bottle. Fitting snugly inside the hole that seemingly resides permanently in my stomach. But when you uncork yourself, the entire room suddenly fills with champagne bubbles. All of us lucky enough to be there engulfed in it, gather these bubbles in our cupped hands like little kids, intoxicated on the most enchanting delight in the room. You. When I’m with you, life is instantly hilarious. Chaos, hilarious, insecurities, hilarious, jokes, hilarious. Like we’re in a comedy club going set for set with each other and no one is laughing but us and we're losing our minds, rolling around on the stage like madmen, laughing so hard we could rumble this place into an earthquake. You are one of the most powerful things I have ever felt.

Dear Terrance,

I’m missing you. Surprise surprise.

Dear Terrance,

You told me once when I was going through a hard time that you were sorry you couldn't be there for me through it all. That I had to do it alone. That no one's going to save us. We all have to do it alone. My heart crept out of my chest and drug its feet across the street to sit on a park bench. It held its face in its still beating hands, mourning the child in you that had to eat loneliness for breakfast so many times that it started to taste true.

I think if you turn the lights on, as terrifying as it might be, the ghosts in your room will have no choice but to make space for the people in your corner. I'll see you there.

Dear Terrance,

This is my last letter to you. Not because I have given up. Oh no. I'm on my way.

Aria Marks is a storyteller, student, and hopeless romantic. She spends most her days working on artsy projects and having in depth conversations with her cat.