Page 5 of Property of Quake

When I get to the last page, I take a deep breath because I want to keep reading, but I also don’t want the letter to end.

If you’ve made it this far, then I know I was right about you… you’re one of the good ones. I have 2 more things I want to say to you, and then I’ll let you get back to whatever life you’ve built yourself.

You need to know that I’m so grateful for your friendship. You might not have always liked me. In fact, I know you didn’t. It was pretty plain in the way you bitched when I was teasing you or in the way you always slightly turned away when I was around. But ya know what? You never once actually stopped being there. You (and okay, the nuns and Father James) were the only person that I could count on being there. I’m sorry if my callous words made you feel like no one would ever want you, but I think that was my way of keeping you close. I didn’t want to lose you, Whitney. If I didn’t have you, who did I have?

I don’t know if that makes sense, but shit, I hope it does. In my own way, I loved you. Hell, I still love you. Not romantically or anything like that. My love for you was incredibly simple, and yet, complicated by the life I’d been dealt. It was (is) a deep, raw, unsullied love. It’s unconditional, and even though I’m dead, it’ll always be there. So, in the moments when you’re thinking that no one loves you or that you’re not deserving of love, remember that I did, I do, okay?

And lastly… remember at the beginning of this letter when I said that everything you need is right there at Sacred Haven? I hope so because if not, you really should get your memory checked! (I hope that made you laugh)

Anyway, I meant it.

I might have left that place without looking back, but I shouldn’t have. Out here, out in the ‘real’ world… life is fucking hard. I thought I was doing good because I got an apartment and a job. I had friends who I’d hang out with. But when all is said and done, I didn’t really have shit. Those ‘friends’ are the same people who introduced me to heroin.

Fuck, Whitney, the way the drug made me feel… I became invincible. I started by smoking it, and the incredible high lasted for 15 to 30 minutes. A whole goddamn half hour where I felt like I was the best thing since sliced bread. But then that wasn’t enough, so I started shooting up, and that was even better because the high would last hours. HOURS!

And then it didn’t last.

I chased a feeling that never even really existed, and while I did that, I let everything else in my life go. I stopped calling you (I’m so damn sorry), I stopped caring about work or bills. There was nothing more important in my life than doing whatever it took to feel that good again. I don’t know why, but my boss didn’t give up on me, not completely. He realized what I was doing and gave me an ultimatum: get help or get fired.

I chose help. I think on some level I made that choice for you because I knew if you found out how bad I’d gotten, you’d have been disappointed. Anyway, I found an NA meeting that was held at a church a few blocks from my apartment. I was there every single day. I resented my boss, the meetings, everything. I wanted to feel good, not ashamed.

But the thing is, when the meetings ended, I didn’t leave the church. I spent hours in the nave (are you proud of me that I know that word??). Sometimes the priest would join me, and he’d just sit quietly while I worked through shit in my head. Other times, I’d be alone, but not alone, ya know?

In that space, that spread of time, I figured something out. I realized that was the one place, the only time, I felt peace. I wasn’t itching to leave and find a dealer, I wasn’t scrambling to come up with the money to buy my next fix. I was just… breathing.

I spent so much time running from my past, my childhood, when all I had to do was turn around and look. Really fucking look. Yes, my first 7 years sucked ass, but after that, life wasn’t terrible. I was loved by people that weren’t required to love me. I was accepted by people that didn’t give a damn what society said. I was part of something bigger than me.

So, Whitney, turn around and look. Take stock of what you have before you make the decision to run because everything that’s good in the world, everything you really fucking need is right there.

I was stupid. Don’t be stupid. You’re too smart for that. I wasn’t (clearly because I’m dead). I found exactly what I needed, but it was too late. The peace, the acceptance came too late because I thought I’d gotten a grip on not chasing something that isn’t real, but I was wrong. I quit going to the meetings, to that church, because I thought I didn’t need it anymore. How crazy is that?

You might be wondering how I came to be writing this letter, and the answer is simple. I know the end is coming for me, faster than it should be, because I don’t have the willpower to stop for long. I’m going to keep using drugs. I’m going to keep chasing a high that never lasts. Hell, as soon as I put this letter in the envelope, I’ll probably shoot up because the needle has been calling my name and taunting me from its place on my nightstand the entire time I’ve been writing.

I just needed to get this out before it was too late. Because it WILL be too late. Sooner rather than later.

Please think about staying right where you are. You have a family there, even if it isn’t a conventional one. You’ll have me no matter where you go, but I’d prefer to haunt you there where it’s safe (I want that to make you laugh but I doubt you’re in a laughing mood right now). You are loved there, by the nuns, by Father James, by God. You were the light in my dark, and I know you could be that for so many more children who come through those doors.

Stay, Whitney. Pledge your life to something that is so much bigger than you or me. I’m not saying become a nun because then you’d never have sex (trust me, you don’t want to miss out on that), but just don’t run, okay? When you leave, have a plan. When you leave, don’t leave for good.

TURN THE FUCK AROUND AND LOOK!

Well, the needle is getting louder, so I’m going to stop writing. Maybe I’m wrong, and I’ll get to talk to you again, see you again before you’re given this letter, but just in case…

I love you, Whitney. Thank you for being my person.

Love,

Ryan

I fold the letter and return it to the envelope. The words ‘my person’ are like a beacon, and I can’t stop staring. Ryan left when he turned eighteen, but he never really escaped. No matter where he went or what he did, the past caught up to him.

That was the one place, the only time, I felt peace.

Years of seemingly insignificant moments flash before my eyes. Times when I hated my life and the cards I’ve been dealt became overwhelming, so I stand from my bed and make my way to the small chapel.

Sister Beatrice is sitting in the front pew, her head bowed in prayer. I settle next to her, and neither of us speaks. My mind isn’t quiet though. It’s loud, like a freight train barreling straight for me. It’s screaming, crying, begging me to… what?

TURN THE FUCK AROUND AND LOOK!