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This is going to sound so insane, Em, but some days I felt intimidated by you...You would come home and tell me about all these great things you were doing, all these colleges that were practically begging for you to be their student and I was so blown away—so happy for you. But deep down I wondered if telling me those things was your way of telling me that what I’d done for you wasn’t good enough.
And I know that it wasn’t...
I can honestly admit that I wasn’t there when you needed me most and it fucking hurts to say that, but it’s true. I’m not excusing my selfishness in anyway, but I want you to know that sometimes I didn’t show up because I was insecure.
I remember a writing competition you had at Town Hall—the one I told you I couldn’t make it to because I was in New York with Vincent...I was there, Em. I was in the back, but being there confirmed why I (selfishly) missed most of your events...
All the other kids’ parents were doctors, lawyers, teachers—people who had actually done shit with their lives, people who were asking me which student I was there to see and what I did for a living...I didn’t want to embarrass you, so I watched you perform and I left right after.
I know I’ve taught you that looks are everything, but they’re nothing when you’re insecure about everything else. As a matter of fact, I’ve learned that sometimes the prettiest people do the ugliest things, and that’s no way to be.
You are ten times better than I ever was, and I know you’ll probably still be angry with me when you read this, but what I’m about to say is real advice...Things I wish I had taught you when you were younger, things that I hope are not too late to reverse and tell you about:
1. Looks are only a reflection of how you want other people to see you. It’s better to be fucked up on the outside, than fucked up on the inside. Mascara and lip gloss can’t cure a broken heart, and they damn sure don’t do shit for depression.
2. Fuck sponsors. Make friends. Friends are the rare people in your life who’ll tell you when you’re fucking up. Even when you don’t want to hear it and think they’re just being mean or trying to put you down—they’re usually just trying to help and they have your best interests at heart.
3. The smartest person in the room will always be more valuable than the prettiest person in the room. (But you can always be both :-) LOL )
My last bit of advice is about boys. (Well, “men” at your age...) I fell in love at fifteen, had you at sixteen, and never heard from my first love again—even after he promised me “forever,” even after he promised that he would run away with me and we’d both study to become nurses (my real dream job...) and take care of you. I fell in love once more at twenty one—with a guy who didn’t care what I did to pay the bills, with a guy who was so sweet and charming that I wasn’t sure I deserved him...Nonetheless, I held onto him for longer than I should’ve because we were at different stages in our lives: I still didn’t know who I was, and he had everything figured out—including what he thought I should be and how I should change for him, so I eventually had to leave him...
What does all of that mean? It means live your life for you, Em. No one else. Not me. Not your friends. Not your boyfriend (if you have one). Put yourself FIRST. Accomplish everything you want, achieve all of your dreams, and don’t let anyone stand in your fucking way...
I look forward to seeing you win a Pulitzer, land on the bestseller charts, or whatever it is that writers fucking do when they make it big...
I’m proud of you.
I’m watching you.
I love you.
More than you’ll ever know, Em...
(And remember, no one else is allowed to call you that. EVER. You are MY “Em” and no one else’s.)
Yours,
Leah Belle.
I drop the letter to the floor and hug my pillow, crying hard for the first time in years.
I’m still reeling from the way she chose to leave me, but I right now I understand. I get it. Even though I wish I didn’t...
“I was there, Em. I was in the back...” “I was always proud of you.” “My Em and no one else’s.” “I’m watching you...” “Accomplish everything you want.”
I no longer need to think about Virginia and Henry’s offer. I’ll accept it first thing tomorrow morning.
***
I drive myself to The Phoenix early the next afternoon, admiring the simplicity of the barren backstreets as I roll by. This’ll be the last time I drive this way; I have five weeks before fall classes start and I need to spend as much time as I can studying for the placement exams.
I’d thought that all I needed to do to start classes again was show up and register, but apparently placement tests are a necessity for those “second triers” who are a “risk” to the university; I have to be deemed worthy before I can enroll.
