An open letter to You, who will never read it

Dear You, who will never read it, 

Tonight I sat outside my front door and drank some hot cocoa. I had a perfect view of one star. Trees and buildings and awnings framed that one white freckle on the night sky. It is inevitable when I stare into the sky, that I think of others who might be looking up at the same sky. I thought of my friends who I left behind, and who have left me behind. But mostly I was thinking about you. It always agonizes me; what might have been. Sometimes when I think about you, it’s like a bowling ball to the stomach. It knocks the wind out of me. Sometimes, like tonight, when I thought about you, I chuckled. There’s so much that I didn’t know, and still don’t know that it amuses me how hung up I am over something that never happened. Maybe my frustration is that it never had the chance to happen. The dominoes didn’t fall that way. And that’s probably okay. The past can never fully inform the future. But the infinite stream of might-have-beens that make up history help me imagine what might be. And maybe what might be is me drinking hot cocoa looking up at that same star many months or years from now, with you by my side. 

Love, 

Aaron 

How about that weather huh?

 Every Monday through Thursday I bike into campus to attend class. I’m studying History at Boise State University. To be entirely honest I had never even once considered going to Boise State when I was applying to schools during my last year of high school back in Wisconsin. I applied to three schools, got into one, and began my freshman year of university at Simon Fraser University in British Columbia. I lived in Surrey and took most of my classes at the Surrey campus that housed the Sustainable Energy Engineering program. I’m not entirely sure why I applied to Engineering programs. I despise math and I’m not super interested in science. 

I chose to apply for SFU because it was in the Pacific Northwest, an area that’s always felt like home. I spent the better part of seven months in BC. Most of that time it was cold, rainy, and gray. Most days it was alright, but it would grate on me, until one day it would hit me like a truck, and I’d desperately want to see the sun. I enjoyed my time in Canada, there were highs and lows as is true of any time in my life. But the highs were higher than other periods in my life. And the lows were briefer. Then March came around. On St. Patrick’s day, a holiday synonymous with americanized symbols of luck, my life took a sour turn. To the south and the east. 

I moved to Boise, Idaho when the pandemic initially shut down the world. I was living with family, but Boise took a long time to feel like home. Not wanting to return to the engineering program or attend an international school virtually, I transferred schools. I considered culinary schools, a smaller state university back home in Wisconsin, and of course Boise State. I got accepted into the Boise State History Program, finally studying something I cared about and was good at. The first two semesters were not good times. The latter half of the spring semester was alright, but most of the eight or so months of the fall and spring terms were boring at best and crushing at worst. There were highs sprinkled throughout, but they were few and far between. 

I moved out of my Dad’s house in Boise this August, and into an apartment near campus. The apartment feels more like home to me. I can walk places and feel like I’m actually in a city instead of the soulless suburbs. My apartment is only about an eight minute bike ride from the far side of campus. There is a great deal more sun here in Boise than in BC, and most days so far this semester the weather has been gorgeous. But today when I woke up it was cold and rainy. I made sure to wear clothes that would keep me warm and dry. I left a couple minutes earlier than usual, so that I could bike more slowly. The chilly air felt comforting on my skin. The familiar feeling of raindrops slowly coating me was a welcome change from the constant sun. I’m still not any closer to the home I left some 18 months ago. But, today the weather made Boise feel a bit less like Boise, and a bit more like home. It was enough to remind me that, just like living in British Columbia or in Wisconsin, Boise will have its highs and its lows. It reminded me that I shouldn’t miss the forest for the City of Trees. 

Waves of Sound

 Ande worked hard. With each passing day in the mines he pushed himself further than he thought he could go. The work was difficult and offered little reward in wages as compensation for the work. Every night after his work hours were done and his room was tidied and his food was eaten, Ande laid awake in his cot. The booming of explosives detonating and ringing of metal on stone echoed in his ears. Once he was able to sleep, he dreamt of silence. Some nights Ande would find himself on a boat in the middle of the ocean. The waves did not make noise as they lapped against his boat. It filled Ande with serenity, a peace in knowing that he could simply float along in the quiet. Other nights he found himself for once on the top of a mountain and not within one. There was never any wind whistling against the rocky peak that he stood upon. It felt to Ande like he could see the whole world when he had that dream. When his dreams of silence were finished, Ande woke again and returned to his work in the noise and darkness of the mine. 

There came a day when Ande woke and was greeted not by the unrelenting storm of the noise of the mine, but a chorus of voices shouting erratically. Ande peered through the curtains and saw exactly what he expected. The union workers had established a picket line across the entrance to the mineshaft. Ande genuinely supported the cause of the union but never concerned himself with finding the time to attend the meetings and the gatherings that were requisite for becoming a member. Those meetings were loud and rowdy and full of argument, and Ande wanted quiet more than he wanted to go chasing trouble and starting fights. When Ande finally exited his small dwelling, he surveyed the picket line where they stood across the road from him. He took note of all the people there, a small portion wore the red bandanas of the union workers. Ande knew exactly how many workers were stationed to work in the mine during normal times. As Ande counted all of the people picketing the mineshaft, he realized every single one of the workers was there but him. 

Ande saw dozens of faces, some weathered and old, and some that still held the youthful optimism that was quickly crushed in the mines. There were faces that were plump and some that were gaunt. The faces that looked to him held the entire spectrum of humanity, pale and dark skin, young and old, masculine and feminine, and in each of their eyes they were pleading. Their eyes asked him to join them and fight. To Ande it felt as though he could see the whole world in the workers in front of him. Ande took one step forwards, and then another, and slowly strode across the gravel road that separated him and his fellow workers. He joined the ranks of striking workers. They greeted Ande with warm smiles, which he timidly returned. 

“We’re not alone this time.” Declared a large woman with dark skin and long cords of braids held back by a red bandana. All the other workers stopped and listened as she spoke. “All around the world, workers have taken to the streets, they’ve stopped working. The strike has gone global. We’re going to win this.” 

↼⇀ ↼⇀ ↼⇀

For the next two years, Ande fought harder with each and every day. He left the mountain and the cursed mine where he had lived for a third of his life. Eight years of mining was replaced by two years of spying and stealing and surviving. With the same rhythm of his time as a miner, Ande woke each day, completed his tasks to perfection, and then tried to rid his mind of the noises of the day. Gone were the echoes and ringing of mining equipment. Now sirens and gunshots and the roaring of airplane engines haunted Ande as he tried to sleep. In those two years Ande met and lost more friends than he ever could have imagined. The changes to Ande’s world did not change his dreams of the mountain and the ocean. 

In midsummer of the second year of fighting, victory in the war was finally won. The sounds of gunshots and sirens and airplanes no longer rippled through air. As the sun rose, music began playing. Guitars and trumpets and makeshift drums created a melody that no one had written but everyone instinctively knew. Ande sang and danced with people he had never met as though they were his closest friends. The last of the old ruler’s flags were lowered and burnt. People warmed themselves on the fires made from burning the last symbols of hate that had ruled for the last centuries. Serenity overcame Ande as he floated through the day, celebrating his fellow humans and sharing in their joy. Food was cooked and shared, and everyone ate their fill, nourished not only by the substance of the meal, but the jovial company with which it was shared. 

In the following months, Ande lived more than he had in his first 26 years of life. His communities met frequently to discuss how to structure their growth from the ashes of the former system. The meetings and discussions were peaceful and generally founded on compassion. There were certainly still those who held onto the hate that they had been taught for so many generations before, but they were stripped of their power and encouraged to learn new ways by their new neighbors. As the world transitioned to a new epoch, Ande found himself building. Every few days Ande would help build constructs that would harness the power of the sun and the wind and provide energy for those who need it. Other days Ande helped rebuild and repair buildings and homes destroyed in the conflict. With each day, Ande helped more and more people. 

↼⇀ ↼⇀ ↼⇀

And at the end of each day, it was not machinery nor weaponry that echoed in Ande’s ears as he tried to sleep. Instead it was the voices and words of his comrades and his friends. Now Ande did not mind the noise, it was no longer harsh or oppressive to Ande. And as Ande woke up each day, he found himself thinking of one voice in particular. One person’s words could make all other noise disappear as Ande focused on the beauty in each of the words they spoke. And so each day Ande grew closer and closer to that person. They found themselves talking for hours and spending many of the waking hours together. And soon they moved in together and vowed to each other in the quietest moments of the morning to spend their lives together. Each day they cherished life with each other more and more. 

They found themselves traveling to new places and helping and being helped by new people each day. They traveled by newly constructed trains and walked along avenues beneath canopies of living buildings. Every time Ande found himself gazing into his partner’s eyes, he felt as though he was looking to the whole world. And every moment with his partner it felt to Ande like he was floating in serenity, following the currents that he and his lover created together. 

Decades passed as the two lived together. Each day, they saw humanity reaching new heights and connecting the world closer than ever before. After years of seeing all the world, they returned to where they first had built community together. Some of their friends were still off traveling the world, others had never wanted to leave and stayed in the community, watching it grow with each day. Several times across their decades together, Ande and his partner left to travel the world, to return to the friends they had made far from their home community. 

As is inevitable with the passage of time, there came a day when Ande woke up, but his partner did not. The days that passed after his partner died were quieter, and Ande did not welcome the quiet. He could not find it in himself to become passive following his partner’s death. He spent time to grieve the loss and he spent time to celebrate the life had been lived. Ande traveled the world one more time alone, saying goodbye one last time to his friends, before returning home again. In the years that passed with his partner, the noises of the day had ceased to linger on Ande’s ears as he laid in bed. The longer Ande was separated from his partner, the more sounds again danced in his ears at the end of the day. Ande could hear his partner’s laugh and voice gently in his ear as he fell asleep. One night Ande gazed out his window at the shining moon, closed his eyes, and at last knew silence. 

Counting, Part 4

 There were five days left until Spencer was set to leave for LA. A several day cross-country slog of a road trip awaited him and his family when the time came to leave. Spencer’s heart had long called out for the west coast. All the adventures that awaited him out there, dreams to be made true, hopes to be realized, were dampened by dread. It was not fear of the unknown whose icy grip made him shiver, but rather fear of the known parting that was coming. Only some 17 days had passed since Spencer and Eloise had met, but their love was sudden and unyielding. A gust of summer wind. 

That evening was Spencer and Eloise’s twelfth meeting. Warm summer evenings brought droves of people to the terrace on the lakefront. Friends and family congregated in the many tables and chairs. An abundance of partners on dates enjoyed the lively atmosphere. Food and drink were bountiful. Spencer and Eloise had found a table for two right down by the water. They each had a cone of ice cream that was melting slowly, bathed in the golden setting sun. They had little need for talk. They were close enough to the end that they wanted more than anything just to bask in each other’s company. 

The sharp trill of a ringtone drove a cold knife into Eloise’s chest. Through all previous eleven meetings with Spencer, Eloise had been lucky enough to not have heard that trill once. But her luck ran out, and life came calling. Eloise stood up, her demeanor clouded. 

“I’ve got to take this,” she apologized, stepping away from the table, answering the phone and finding a calmer place to take the call. Spencer remained rooted in his seat. Eloise’s response to the phone call made Spencer believe that this was the end of the line. An eternity of a couple minutes later, Eloise returned. A shadow had been cast over her. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go. My family needs me home, so these next couple days are probably going to be pretty busy.” Her eyes no longer gleamed with life, nor did they shine with tears. Only a dull pain was left. 

       Spencer nodded. A storm of words raged in his gut. Jumbled declarations, grand gestures, and heartfelt confessions all surged and ebbed beneath the surface. They could not be strung together into something coherent. So Spencer, his eyes dulled just the same as hers, took a deep breath. 

    “Goodbye, Eloise.” 

    “Goodbye, Spencer,” Eloise turned and left. And that was the end. There was no final play for each of them to make. There was no thirteenth meeting. No ambiguous wording that left the loose ends untied and left the door for love open. It was a simple, crushing, almighty “goodbye.” 

Soon, Spencer stopped counting down the days until he left, and was crammed in a car headed south and west with opportunity on the horizon. Eloise got out of her house one last time, flying east to a home that would finally let her stretch her wings. 

    In due time the pain of Spencer’s fifth and Eloise’s fourth loves faded away. Several months later, Spencer would meet his sixth love, one that would carry him far into the future. Eloise’s fifth and sixth and seventh loves came and went. In idle moments, thoughts of those 17 days and twelve meetings would fleetingly haunt them. Still they went on, counting the loves along the way. 

FIN

Counting, Part 3

Eloise was glad to have one more reason to get out of the house that fit her so poorly. She was not without friends, but they were all working or travelling. It was refreshing for Eloise to be able to get out of the house and not feel like she was escaping her home, instead seeking something meaningful. On this day in particular, she was meeting Spencer at a city park on a wooded peninsula that stuck out into the lake. It was a popular park, nestled among the campus of the university. 

It was a hot, humid day, like many other midwestern august days. Eloise and Spencer walked the trail towards the end of the peninsula. They strayed from the trail and sat on a large rectangular rock that jutted out over the water. It was a peaceful day, and they watched people passing by like the breeze. There were happy couples out on dates, friends enjoying each other’s company, parents with their young children, all savoring the moment. 

“I suppose I haven’t asked you yet, but where are you going to university?” Spencer broke a gentle silence between the two. 

“I’m attending Barnard College out in New York” Eloise’s heart sank as she answered, knowing how far it was from this place. “What about you? Where are you going?” 

“I’m going to UCLA. It’s just around the corner” Spencer chuckled, hiding the remorse in his voice. The gentle silence returned as the pair returned to the moment once again. Each knew that the whirlwind they had shared was too good to last, but this confidently put an end point in front of them. 

“I’ve always thought that leaving was the easy part. You get a new start somewhere far away, and can leave behind everything that dragged you down.” Eloise reflected. “Now I’m not so sure.” 

“Staying always seemed like the easy option to me. Don’t have to leave anyone or anything you love behind. You don’t have to struggle to forge your own path in a distant place.” Spencer couldn’t bring himself to smile. “But then again, it’s not exactly like I want to stay.” 

“Making the easy decision isn’t as important as making the right one. And you can’t find out what the right decision was until after you’ve made it. You never know that staying somewhere is killing a small part of you each day until you’re halfway dead. And you never know that you started where you belonged til you’ve made the voyage out into the unknown.” Eloise imparted, watching her reflection in the water.

Spencer nodded, reached out for Eloise’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Sometimes there is no right option and every choice you make is gonna hurt. But at least we have moments in the meantime that fill us with joy.” 

“I wish we weren’t so wise.” Eloise turned to Spencer, brushed some hair out of her eyes and behind her ear. “Makes it easier to dive in headfirst.” 

“Never hurts to know which end of the pool is the deep end when you’re going diving,” Spencer smirked. The two leaned closer, eyes locked, trying to convey all their emotions wordlessly. “Can I kiss you?” Spencer sliced through the tension. 

“Of course” Eloise pulled him in. 

 

Musings on the 20th of September

Birthday mornings used to be marked by having my breakfast made for me by my mom. The food was always accompanied by hot cocoa. Over the years those hot cocoas turned to mochas turned to black coffee. I always enjoyed having those breakfasts with the family, and the dinners in the evening. The food was always hot and the atmosphere warm. 

Then came a year when I had my birthday coffee with just my mom, in a new house with no memories of birthdays prior. On my 17th birthday I felt alone. My sister was taking a gap year volunteering with the NCCC and Americorps. And the dinner with my parents was decidedly colder. Civil, but cold. 

The next year I turned 18 in a country where I wasn’t an adult til I was 19. I woke up alone, ate alone, and drank my morning coffee alone. That night I drank a bottle of root beer I had brought with me from Madison. It was a soothing taste of home in a strange land. A thousand miles from my closest friends, and still weeks away from meeting my new friends, it was another lonely birthday. I was happy to be somewhere new, somewhere I knew would be better than where I had been. 

Last year I turned 19 in a room in my dad’s basement in a city I never wanted to live in. I had a glass of water when I woke up instead of coffee. Once again I was far, far away from any friends. This time I wasn’t without family though. That didn’t make me feel any less alone. I facetimed my sister for several hours that day. It closed the distance but didn’t warm the atmosphere. 

Tomorrow I’m going to wake up alone. In an apartment that is just me and my stuff. I’ll still be in a city I never wanted to live in, and going to a university I never planned to study at. I don’t think I’m gonna have any hot cocoa or coffee with my breakfast. I don’t know what I’m gonna eat for dinner either. But for the first time in years I won’t feel alone when I wake up on my birthday. And I hope that that’s enough for me.

Counting, Part 2

With introductions hastily made, Eloise and Spencer sat together and talked. Sunset turned to twilight turned to nighttime in the ebb and flow of the conversation. When darkness had fully settled in, Eloise finally checked the time on her phone. 

    “Oh my, it’s late, I should probably be getting home.” Spencer immediately began feeling around his pockets for his phone, suddenly aware of how much time had passed. 

    “Yeah, what time is it?” Though she had just checked the time, she turned her phone on again and fully noted the time.

    “It’s 10:55”  Eloise reported, considering if her parents would have even noticed she was still out. 

    “Shit, I should’ve been home an hour ago.” Spencer shrugged, finally finding and pulling out his phone. 

    "Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you into trouble or anything.” Eloise worried. 

    “It’s okay, my mom is pretty chill about this sort of thing.” He quickly navigated to his text messages and shot a message to his mom. “Got caught up in a conversation, be home by midnight” the message read. Spencer smiled “And besides, for a conversation with you, any trouble I'd be in would be well worth it.” Internally Spencer was screaming. He was never this forward or confident with people. Eloise was also screaming internally, trying to pull herself together. She was grateful that the darkness was hiding how flustered she was. Eloise wasn’t one to be easily impressed by words, but when Spencer talked, his words all sounded like masterpieces. 

    “Well if it’d be worth it to get in trouble with me, would you like to walk me home?” Eloise queried. Thankful to have found the poise to ask such a question. Spencer’s smile that had been plastered to his face since he had first seen Eloise grew even more.  

    “Of course, that’d be fantastic,” he beamed. Spencer offered a hand and helped Eloise off the bench before grabbing his bike and making an exaggerated gesture. “Lead the way.” His internal monologue belted “WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE THIS YOU FOOL.”

    “Well, right this way then.” Eloise directed, matching Spencer's dramatic delivery. The pair walked further down the path before winding their way through a charming residential neighborhood. Streetlights cast golden ambience onto the two; Illuminating the grazing of a hand against a forearm and a shoulder brushing a shoulder. There was tension and angst between the two that thickened the deeply humid air of a midwestern summer. Soon they arrived outside a notably out of place house. Most of the homes in the neighborhood were older, squat brick ranch-style houses. The one Eloise led Spencer to was a larger, modern-style house. Saddened by the prospect of leaving the light and liveliness of being with Spencer, Eloise cast her eyes downwards. “Well this is me,” Eloise sulled before looking up into Spencer’s eyes and smiling, “Thanks for walking me home.”

    Spencer smiled warmly, “You’re incredibly welcome.” Not wanting to let the moment slip away, he sputtered “Hey, before you go, could I get your number? I’d like to maybe get in trouble for you again?” 

    Eloise smiled to match Spencer’s grin, “Of course. Maybe we can both get up to a bit of trouble next time we meet.” The two exchanged devices and imputed their respective numbers into the phones. “I’ll see you soon, Spencer,” waving and walking up the driveway to her garage. 

    “See you soon, Eloise,” Spencer beamed, returning the wave. 

The wheels of Spencer’s bike never left the ground as he flew home. His head in the clouds, and his heart swelled to the size of a galaxy. 

Eloise laid in bed, floating above the world. There was no amount of sterile architecture or uncaring family that could drag her back to earth. 

Counting, Part 1

Spencer had fallen for five different girls in his life. The first was the cute girl who lived in the same neighborhood as him. The second a popular girl who he thought he had no shot with, and thus never entertained the possibility of them being together. The third was a girl he met in passing, on a ferry across lake michigan. They spent only three hours together but he still dreamt of her time and again. The fourth was the storybook highschool sweetheart. For two and half years they dated. A steadfast couple in the quagmire of adolescence that collapsed in an instant. And the fifth was the girl he had just laid eyes on, sitting by the lake as the sun went down. 

Spencer had been biking home as he had done hundreds of times before, rounded a curve and was awestruck. A young woman sat reading on a bench facing out over the lake that peeked through a small gap in the trees. The glossy cover of the book caught the light, matching the glare of the sun on the still waters of the lake. The girl’s hair framed her face in loose curls, and the warmth of the sun gave her a glow that bordered upon divine to Spencer’s eyes. His legs, once furiously pedaling away, lost all their strength, and Spencer’s bike coasted to a stop next to the bench. 

“What’re you reading?” Spencer asked before he could think about what he was doing. Spencer had acted before he had a chance to be nervous. Once the words had left his mouth, doubts immediately crept in. 

“It’s an Octavia Butler novel, about surviving the future collapse of America.” The girl turned towards Spencer as she spoke. Her eyes locked with Spencer’s, the brown of her irises made the color of honey in the light. 

<---> <---> <--->

Eloise had been in love four times. Her first love was words. Reading, writing, speaking, listening, anything to do with words. Her second love was the girl that sat behind her in history class in ninth grade. Her third love was the boy she dated for fifteen months during her sophomore and junior years. And her fourth love arrived out of nowhere on a bicycle on a warm evening in July. 

“What’re you reading?” a voice asked. The voice was warm and gentle, harmonizing with the setting sun and the soft breeze. Eloise turned to reply.

“It’s an Octavia Butler novel, about surviving the future collapse of America.” She immediately questioned her phrasing, worried that it would come off wrong. She instant her eyes finally made contact with the person behind the voice, all doubts evaporated. Sparkling obsidian eyes belonged to a tall but unimposing figure who stood straddling a bicycle. 

“Can it still be considered Science Fiction if it happens to come true?” the boy smirked. Eloise furrowed her brow and thought for a moment. 

“I think so. Either way, beyond the collapse of America I don’t see the events of the book so far coming true.” Spencer nodded his head and smiled fully. 

“Fair enough, fair enough.” He dismounted the bike, popping off his helmet and extending a hand. “I’m Spencer by the way.” 

“Hi Spencer, I’m Eloise, it’s lovely to meet you.” 

“Lovely to meet you too.”