Dear Agnes,
I miss you. I miss the sound of your voice. I miss the sparkle of your eyes. I miss your hair and the way it cascades down your shoulders, crawling with lice. I miss you.
Remember our first date? We were both in that park, when the night sky was alive with stars and the air around us was cool and fresh and filled with some sort of magic that only we could sense. Our eyes met across the grassy terrain, and I tipped my hat to you. Its feather fluttered out, and as that piece of plumage swept through the air, you caught it.
You handed it to me, saying, “Nutter Butter, this floated away but then I caught it like I caught the flu from Aunt Judy that one time but that time isn’t this time and this time is important because I can feel the passion in the air from your feather so I’m giving it back to you but I wish I could hold onto it forever and ever and ever and ever and ever for all of time and this big, a lot.”
And then remember how we spotted the playground equipment and climbed up that slide the wrong way, even though we weren’t supposed to? We were terrified that someone might catch us! But no one did, so we laughed. We laughed for what seemed like an eternity, just you and I. But it was actually only forty-three minutes. And then we were just sitting up there in that playset’s crow’s nest, gazing at the park around us, and found that wad of gum, remember? It was just stuck there, wasted. So I reached up and peeled it off of the slide’s cracking yellow plastic and bit it in half. I chewed, and then when I’d softened it up enough, I gave it to you, and took the other half for myself. It tasted like spearmint and it was pink, but I didn’t really care about the taste or the color. I only cared about how your face lit up when I gave you the wad, how your missing-tooth smile stretched from ear to ear and how your tomato-red cheeks ripened before my very eyes. I still care.
And, just like when we were together, I still feel sad sometimes, too. But now, I don’t have you there to take me into your arms and whisper in my ear the sweet nothings you’d tell me. You’d always say just the right thing to cheer me up.
I remember one time when I was so distraught over that one scoop of Rum and Raisin ice cream falling out of my cone, you told me, “Triple Stuf Vanilla Oreo, it’ll all get better one day because today is not the future and it’s also the day after yesterday which means that the past is behind us so we’re young and we’re free to just be ourselves with each other in the world around us and the sky above us and the ground beneath us with Aunt Judy in it who really did like seeing the two of us together before she slipped on that steamy pile of rice and accidentally hit her head on that pirate statue with everyone on the pier noticing but us because our love is so strong and meaningful and blinding and important and I love you so much and this big, a lot.”
And then you kissed me with that wet, juicy, slimy, oozing, glorious mouth-hole. And then I kissed you back, knowing everything would be all right. Everything would be all right.
But everything is not all right. Not anymore. I can’t help but look back at that last night we shared together. We were sprawled out in bed, our bodies warm with post-love sweat, silk sheets woven around our legs like ivy. The moment was perfect. Our love was perfect. You were perfect. But then I went and messed it all up. I know it was my fault, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so so so so so really really very sorry this big, a lot. I got up out of bed and trudged across the bedroom and opened that cabinet that I now know I shouldn’t have opened in front of you. I thought our love was strong enough to endure my life-long obsession, my biggest flaw. But it wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t.
I opened that cabinet, its dark wood glistening in the moonlight that streaked through the open window, and pulled out my 1999 Special Edition Tropical Furby. I cradled that Furby in my arms and stroked its tuft of yellow hair as if it were my own child. It was my own child— is! But you hated that Furby. You hated that Hawaiian-shirt-wearing, teal sunglasses-stylin’ Furby just like you hated all Furbies. How was I to know that you were a Furby-hater?
How was I to know when we first met that we would never work out because of my Furby? My darling Furby. I offered it to you—something I never did with anyone—but you rejected it.
You shot out of bed and grabbed your things, yelling, “I can’t be with you anymore, Chewy Sweet ’n Salty Salted Caramel Chunk Chocolate Chip Chips Ahoy! Cookie, because I hate Furbies and I always have because of the things that they do and the things that they say when you’re not looking and I know that you can’t ever witness them coming to life but they do and don’t we all but they’re not supposed to because they’re not a real human thing person but we are and it’s not okay for the Furbies to be like us because we’re us and they’re them and Aunt Judy’s a corpse but we never talk about it and our love just will never work out because I don’t like Furbies and so I don’t like you and I don’t like you or Furbies this big, a lot.”
And then you left.
After those seventy-four hours that we shared together, and also after sixty-five hours thinking about it and you and the whole situation, but especially you, I decided that my love of Furbies can never be broken. I love Furbies. But I loved you too, and in another universe it would work out. You would love Furbies too and we’d go on adventures together, we’d travel the world together, we’d go to the grocery store and buy as much of the yeast as we desire together.
But this isn’t a different universe, and we just didn’t work out. Still, I miss you. I miss you this big, a lot.
All my wads of gum,
Felix
Lawrence Silveira 