Letter from Isabelle 2

This entry is for 3WW. This week's words are: Afford, Cigarette, Dim. Read part 1 here.

Date: December 22, 2000

Dear L,

It's been a year since I wrote to you but the weather stayed the same. Cold and damp, forever cloudy. So here I am riding the train, on my way to work, writing this. I don't know why I have this sudden need to do this right now. Just that I do. It was always at this time of the year that I would miss you. You have always loved Christmas and wrapping presents. You said you love giving presents even to strangers, love seeing the joy on someone's face whenever they are unwrapping a present, especially one from you.

The train's empty today. I feel strange and weary like I haven't slept for weeks. There's a child - a girl with rosy cheeks and sad eyes - sitting across from me, staring at me as I write this. Makes me sad just looking at her, her hair all dishevel like that. I look away and down at the piece of paper I am writing this on. The train kept moving and stopping, making my words all messy like a badly drawn cartoon.

There's an odd feeling here. The emptiness of the train seem to fill my thoughts. Of those few faces that occupy this train, they look so gloomy, so desolate. It puts into perspective of how I am feeling. That empty hole where I used to be. Still empty, growing bigger as the days go by.

Why does it take so long for someone to forgive and forget? Was I part of the reason that cause you to run away, to leave without any words? I remember you were giving clues away at dinner a few night before you left. I must have known but didn't put it together. You had a smile on your face but you weren't smiling. Your eyes, they frown almost effortlessly as you looked towards me when our Dad mention special places for you to go and get better. I had looked away from you knowing I could not give you any answers. I felt ashamed I could not defend you against their appeals.

The guy across from me has a big bandaid across his cheeks, reminding me of what I've done. I didn't throw that vase at you intentionally, I thought I would miss since I have such a bad aim. I was careless, I thought you were crazy when you told me things that I didn't want to hear, that our parents were right, that you needed to change. To reform myself, you said. To be someone new again, someone more acceptable to the family. I didn't want to listen, I wanted you to stop talking, to stop saying things you don't mean. I didn't realize I had picked up the vase.

I threw the vase without thinking, not knowing where it will land. It hit the side of your face, causing red liquid to drip onto the white carpet. You said nothing as you touched your face. I looked on in horror, waiting for a respond but you tasted the blood on your finger and walked out. Next week, you pretend everything was alright, we were riding the train to school. I stared at your scared face but you just smiled, holding onto the pole, your pink shirt popping out of your black jacket. Your silver cigarette lighter in your hand, shining dimly in the morning sunlight. You always like carrying it around even when you don't smoke.

That day, you said you might have plans to leave, not just me but the family. Your smile faded as you spoke. I tried to understand but your words, they were hidden inside, away from me. You talked as if I understood you but I didn't. I just nodded my head wishing you weren't leave me. It's true, you were different, I have accepted that. You were not a girl nor a guy but somewhere in between. I thought you were perfect. Born on the same day, my best friend, my twin, that was you. You were not a whole person but one half of me. There was no one else who can understand me.

I've search for you soon after you've left. But you were gone. Invisible, it seem. There was no trace of you. Mom and Dad didn't even bother looking for you. They said they couldn't afford to waste time on you. They had dismissed you. Out of their lives, they said, no longer their son. They often asked me if I know where you were but when I shake my head no, their eyes would frown down as if they, too regret, the things that were spoken.

You said words are healing. You said if I write them down, I would feel better. I don't feel any better than I did last year when I wrote you that letter. Still I search for you. In empty trains, in the rain, in the clouds and the sky, in the words that are spoken out loud by strangers, in the letters that I write but couldn't send. You're everywhere and nowhere.

I will rip this letter into a million pieces and scatter them all over the city, maybe then you will hear me.

Isabelle.

Read part 3 here.