Authors: Jax Jillian
The screaming of the alarm clock violently awoke Ryan. As he battled through the cloudiness that the sleep had left in his mind, that was the last thing he remembered hearing last night before dozing off. He knew Larkin would help him fall asleep. It’s almost as if he was looking forward to another sleepless night so he could call her and listen to more of her story. He thought she was a great writer. He always felt bad falling asleep while she read to him, but he knew she understood and was always willing to help him. So like every other morning after she read to him the night before, he sent her a text message thanking her.
Hey, Blue Eyes. Thanks for last night. As always, you’re my favorite lullaby. Can’t wait to hear what happens in the room where Jillian took Nathan. Talk to you soon. Love, Fish.
Letter #2 - March 11, 2011
Dear Ryan,
I decided I am going to tell you everything in these letters. Everything. Every last detail. Quotes from our conversations. Quotes from conversations I have with other people. That way, you can remember everything we share and be a part of everything that we don’t get to share.
I spent the evening sitting on the front porch on this unusually warm March night. I didn’t even need to put on a sweatshirt. The porch swing was still slightly damp from the earlier rainstorm, and there was still a mist in the air, but the clouds had started to break. I often sit out there at night after a long day at work. I need the peace and quiet which is a far cry from the hustle and bustle of my job. It’s kind of ironic, though. Most people wouldn’t associate living in the city, especially a big city like Philadelphia, as peaceful and quiet. But Chris and I are lucky. Lucky that we live in a small neighborhood nestled away in a corner of the city that is calm and inviting. Not too much traffic and all our neighbors help each other out. St. Patrick’s Day is only a few days away, and most of my neighbors have flashing white-and-green shamrock-shaped lights outlining the edges of their roofs and windows, and toy leprechauns are dancing in the front yards.
How’s the weather in New Orleans? I am sure it is a little bit warmer there. We just got walloped by a Nor’easter four days ago which has become somewhat of a weekly occurrence these days in Philadelphia. It is nice though to see the barren tree branches start to thaw out and small patches of grass start to emerge from underneath their white winter coat.
I had a conversation with Chris tonight. I do love him so much, but he just doesn’t seem to believe in me the way you do. I told him I was almost done with my manuscript, and I needed to try to find someone who was willing to publish it. He just rolled his eyes and begged me to not get my hopes up. I told him you believed in me and think I have a shot. Unfortunately, he thinks you live in a completely different world than we do. He thinks everything comes easy for you and that if you just snap your fingers you’ll get what you want. He doesn’t know you, Ryan. Not like I do. He doesn’t know how hard you worked to become one of the most sought-after actors in Hollywood. He doesn’t know what you gave up and how you struggled to make ends meet when you first moved to Los Angeles at the age of nineteen. He doesn’t understand our bond, and I don’t think he ever will. He is a hard man, Ryan, much different from you. He is a hardworking man, and I know he would do anything to provide for me, but sometimes I just need my best friend. I need you.
I still haven’t told Chris that I have leukemia. I know, I know. I know what you’re thinking. But how can I? How do you tell your husband that you are dying? It’s not an “oh, by the way” type of conversation. “Hey, honey, we’re out of milk, I’m going to the store. Oh, by the way, I have leukemia. See you when I get home.” I don’t know, Ryan. How do I tell him? I wish you were here to help me. But then again, I haven’t even told you yet. As if the question of “how do I tell him?” isn’t hard enough. How do I tell you, Ryan?
I often find myself drifting back to our childhood together. We were lucky, Ryan. We grew up in a playground. The beach, the boardwalk, the water, the fishing, the amusement rides. What more could you ask for growing up? I fondly remember you being my protector. You always looked out for me. You were like a big brother to me. The brother I never had. The sister you never had. But it was so much more than that. You were my best friend. You taught me everything. Well, it seems like everything. My favorite memories were going out on your father’s boat on the Great Egg Harbor Bay, and, as you fished, I would read to you. I looked forward to every Saturday and our time fishing together on the pier. You were the only person I could tell my dreams to, and I, in turn, couldn’t wait to see if the dreams that you confided in me came true. And they did, Ryan. Your dreams came true. And it makes me believe that mine can too. At least, I used to. But now, this. Leukemia. If that word doesn’t wake you up right out of your dreams, then I don’t know what word would.
I never believed I was good enough. You would spend countless hours telling me that my writing was good enough, and I was special and could do anything. Why were you so good to me, Ryan? Why?
I don’t know if you know this, but when we would go out on your father’s boat, I would just sit and watch you as you fished. As you baited and casted the line. As the intricately defined muscles in your arm would bulge as you would frantically pull on the line when you felt it jump and reel in the catch. As you carefully unhooked the fish and measured it to see if it was a keeper. You were perfect in every way, Ryan. I always thought you were a beautiful man. I just never had the courage to tell you.
You taught me more than just how to fish. Do you remember when you taught me how to surf, how to ride a boogie board, how to Jet Ski and water ski? You were my fish. I miss you, Fish. You helped me conquer my fear of water. And I’ll never forget the time when I was sixteen and you were seventeen and our Jet Ski sunk and we were stranded in the middle of the inlet under the Longport Bridge that hovered over the bay. You promised me everything would be okay, and you wouldn’t let anything happen to me. We had our life jackets on, but I was still scared and you knew it. You never let go of me until help came. I need you to hold on to me again, Ryan. I’m scared again, and you always know what to do.
God, he missed her. He missed everything about her. The way she smiled. The way she smelled. The way she looked at him with her crystal clear blue eyes. He missed the way her bangs swept across her forehead. The way she would hold his hand as they would walk along the beach where the water met the sand. He missed the times she would walk out just beyond their deck and carve “Ryan + Larkin forever” inside a giant heart in the sand. The times when her face would light up every morning when he brought her a fresh bouquet of flowers. He missed the way she made him feel. He missed her strength and her courage. He missed the time that had been erased because it took him almost a decade to realize his love for her.
He missed their childhood, too. Her letter brought him back, and it was as if he was reliving it all over again. Larkin probably didn’t realize it, but it wasn’t just him doing all the teaching. He learned things, too. It was Larkin who taught him how to dance. The month before his junior prom, Larkin would come over every day and dance with him in his room, and she taught him patience. She was so patient with him and his two left feet, but she never gave up on him and he finally got the hang of it. She also helped him get over his fear of heights. After three summers of trying, she finally convinced him to go parasailing with her the summer after his senior year, and he was glad he did. It was one of the best experiences of his life. Even though they were the best of friends, they fought like brother and sister. Larkin was always quick to tell Ryan when she thought he was being a jerk, whether it was toward a girl or his family, and he was always quick to tell her to butt out. No matter how bad their arguments got, they would always laugh about it later on the phone before they fell asleep.
She had never dated a whole lot while they were in school. She did have one or two boyfriends but nothing very serious. She focused on her studies, and she was very athletic, playing practically every sport. She was very shy, and she had a small group of friends, many of them being her teammates. He, on the other hand, was very outgoing and had a lot of friends. He was the class clown, and there weren’t many kids who didn’t like him. And all the girls liked him. He was voted “Best Looking” and “Most Likely to be Famous” in his senior year. Even though he had several girlfriends throughout high school, not one of those relationships was as special to him as his friendship with Larkin. Many of his friends would ask him why he didn’t date Larkin. As close as they were, they never even came close to dating. He remembered talking to her about it one day when they were fishing.
“What do you make of all these people saying we should date?” he had asked her.
“I don’t know, Ryan,” she answered. “I guess I never really thought about it. Have you?”
“I don’t know. I guess I think about it when someone asks me about it.”
“I mean,” she started to say, “it’s not that I wouldn’t date you, but you are my best friend. I think dating each other would ruin that. I would rather have you as my best friend than take the chance to not have you in my life because we end up hating each other.”
“I agree,” he said. And he did agree. Although he did think she was beautiful, and he certainly would ask her out if he had just met her on the street yesterday. He would never do anything to compromise their friendship.
Two letters down. How many more to go? He had no idea. He wanted to get through this. He needed to read these letters. She had left them for him, and he owed it to her to read them. He finished his coffee and placed the mug in the sink. He noticed it was getting late. He hadn’t been able to sleep well, and the thought crossed his mind that maybe Larkin could help him get some sleep. After all, she would read to him when he wasn’t able to. Maybe she couldn’t read to him now, but he could read her letters and that would be just as good, right?
He retired to his bedroom and changed into a white tank top and a pair of plaid boxer shorts. He climbed into his king-sized bed that laid out before a set of French doors which opened up into a small second floor balcony. He and Larkin had spent many nights sitting on that balcony, talking about their future and her sickness. He would give anything to have those nights back. Anything.
Letter #3 - April 20, 2011
Hey, Fish,
It’s been over a month since I last wrote to you. It’s been pretty hectic around here. I lost my job, Ryan. The hospital underwent a series of layoffs, and my department was the hardest hit. I found out two weeks ago. The horrible part about it is I am supposed to start chemotherapy next month, and now I can’t. No job equals no health insurance. What am I to do, Ryan? I am so scared, and I really don’t know what to do. I can’t call you because I still haven’t told you yet. I need to tell you.
It’s been an awful two weeks. Chris and I have separated. When I lost my job, I told him I didn’t want to find another one. I wanted to focus on my writing. He didn’t quite see eye-to-eye with me on that one. He begged me to reconsider my decision. I know I should find a new job, but who is going to hire someone who has leukemia and is dying? I know the smart thing to do is to find a new job and get health insurance, but, Ryan, I want to write. Especially now, when my time may be limited. Why can’t he see that? Why can’t he support me on that?
I know you are probably wondering why I don’t just add myself to Chris’ health insurance policy. Well, I still haven’t told him I am sick. He doesn’t know. I was going to tell him, but, when I saw how he reacted to my wanting to write full time, I knew he would have only stayed with me out of guilt. I don’t want that. If it is that easy for him to just walk away from me, then his love for me isn’t as strong as I had thought, and I am better off alone.
I now know how you felt when you and Abigail got divorced. You would tell me how alone and down you felt. That all your sacrifices meant nothing. You’ll never admit it to me, but I know how hurt you must have been by the media and the public’s portrayal of you as a ladies’ man, claiming you had cheated on her. But you do not need to worry because I know the truth, your family knows the truth, and your friends know the truth. I want you to understand that, Ryan. Understand that we know the truth. We know what kind of man you are. You are a good man, a generous man, a man who would never turn his back on someone he loves. And I know how much you loved her. I could tell from the very first minute you introduced me to her at your father’s funeral. You never left her side, Ryan, and you never let go of her hand. Not even when I got there. That was the first time you put another girl first before me, and I will admit I missed you needing me, but I was happy you were happy, and that’s all I cared about. I wasn’t surprised when you told me you were marrying her six months later. She was beautiful, Ryan. The type of beautiful that makes every other woman jealous. You tried to make it work. I know you did. You both were just too busy working, and, unfortunately, work seems to take precedence over love these days.
I feel like that with Chris. He used to never let go of my hand when we would go for a walk or when we would watch a movie together, but then the walks and the movies started becoming few and far between, and ultimately, so did the hand holding. So did the playful glances and flirting. Instead, what became more important was working so we could pay the bills. The little things were put on the back burner, and ultimately, that flame eventually burned out.
That’s not the way it should be, right? The flame should never burn out. Why does it have to? Because of bills and responsibilities that need to be taken care of? I still believe in love, Ryan. I still believe in those long walks on the beach and sharing a bowl of ice cream and having a man wrap his arms around mine while helping me to reel in a big catch. I still believe in lying next to each other on the hood of the car at the drive-in movie theater. I believe in a man opening the door for me and pulling my chair out for me before I sit down to eat dinner at an intimate, fancy restaurant. I believe in flowers and all that they symbolize, and I believe in always kissing good night before going to sleep. I believe in falling asleep every night in the arms of the man that I love, and I want a man to believe in me. Believe in all that I can give him because I want to give a man everything I am. Most importantly, I want someone to be proud of me.