Voice

Cary,

I think of you occasionally, but it’s mostly in a detached sort of way that makes me uncomfortable. The fact that we shared several years of our lives together and yet no longer know each other is super weird. I know that you never understood why I left, and to me that emphasizes everything. 

I do hope you are well. I know that in some senses you are a good person, but you were such a spoiled child and I think you always will be. I hope that the daughter you had with the woman right after me is happy and well cared for. I hope that you see your daughter as a person and not an object. I hope that you realize that I was never any good for you, could never have been who you wanted me to be. I hope you remember our years together with a sense of fondness, for we each grew up in very strange ways during that time.  

I’m sorry that I let our dog get hit by a car, though I know I loved her much more than you ever did. I’m sorry that I let you turn me into a shell of myself for a long time, so much so that it took me years to recover. I’m sorry that your parents never loved you enough, that I never loved you enough, that I let you tow the Mustang with the U-Haul and get embarrassed when a stranger pointed out that you were towing it wrong. I’m sorry that you ripped closet doors off their hinges and that when I gave the car back to you it had remnants of the boy I let drive it around. I’m sorry, mostly, that I gave up so much to be with you and that we were relative strangers when we flung caution to the wind and moved from one shitty location to another. But, I was an adventurer then. And I hate myself for letting you shake that out of me.