500: White Ferrari

Dear Meg, how are you?

Is that how you start letters? I don’t know how to do this properly, but I thought I would give writing a letter a shot. I know you’d cringe at this, but that’s okay. At least you’d read it.

So back to my initial question, then how have you been? How’s life in your new city? I hope you didn’t get a roommate as bad as you thought you would. I know he looked like a serial murderer from his picture, but he can’t be that bad — right?

Anyways, I hope the cookbook I got you was useful. I left something between the pages, so let me know if you find that. We don’t want the Fried Rice incident to happen again. Especially since I won’t be there to help you anymore.

I’m probably worrying too much about you. You’re probably fine, making a lot of friends, seeing the city lights, having a ton of fun. The stuff we used to do.

How am I? Well, thank you for asking. I’m alright. I guess.

I drive by your street sometimes on the way home from work. I saw your mom taking out the trash once. I don’t know if she mentioned that to you. I haven’t really talked to your family since you left — I guess our dinners together were off the table once you left.

I’m still fixing up my car — she’s getting real close to being perfect. Just a few more layers of paint and a few parts here and there and she’ll be done. I have a lot more time to take care of her now that she’s not being used for our joyrides. I sent a picture if you want to see the car now.

I also sent a bracelet I found beneath the passenger seat. I think it’s the one you always wore to class. I don’t know if you purposely left it behind or if you just don’t need it anymore, but it’s better in your hands than in mine. Maybe you can give it to your serial killer roommate, lighten his mood a little bit.

But I think I’m getting off track here. The real reason I wanted to write this letter is to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything on the ride to the station. I’m sorry that I never called or texted for the past few months. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for the first few months of your new life.

I didn’t care to state the plain — that I miss you. But you probably knew that already.

You were fine here — we were fine here — but maybe you wanted something more. And I’m learning to accept that. When you go from spending every day with someone to never seeing them again, it takes a toll on you. But I’m slowly starting to pay the toll.

I just want you to know that I’m still here. Wherever you are in the world, whatever you become, I will be one call away. I’ll always be thinking of you and worrying if you’re okay — that was my part of the deal.

If you still want to talk to me, you know where to find me Meg. I’ll be here, waiting until our next joyride around town in my white ferrari.

Love,
Frank

PS: if Meg’s roommate is reading this, I apologize for calling you a serial murderer. Please don’t come looking for me.