Dear Jon (7 page)

After three days, I’m sad to say that I’m elated to see a letter from Livvy in the mailbox when I get home from work. As much as I want to detach myself from her, these notes are somehow tethering me to her in an unhealthy way. I know this, and still, I can’t wait to read tonight’s submission.

I love you, Jon.

When you see this one, you won’t have a corresponding memory. I experienced this without you, and I never told you about it. I never told anyone about it. In fact, I’ve lived the past 14 months denying that it ever happened.

But it did.

When you broke up with me, I thought my life was over.

So she
does
know I broke up. That’s good to know.

Do you remember when you told me the world didn’t revolve around me? And I returned that I did know that, and I tried to explain that my world revolved around you?

I didn’t realize she was talking about the breakup last year. That telephone call was so difficult. I was so mad, and she seemed clueless to the reasons behind my anger. The conversation ended horribly. I asked if she was finished ranting, she said
sure
, and I said goodbye. For hours, I’d thought about calling her back to end it differently–
better
–but I realized there’s no good way to end things.

She’d tried to call me many times after that. She left me messages, but I deleted them without listening to them. I needed some perspective, and I knew I wouldn’t get it if I had to listen to her crying or pleading with me.

This sounds familiar. For 11 letters–now 12–she’s pled her case with me. Not in any way I would have anticipated. Her case consists of compelling memories of when we were good together, but still… she has yet to apologize.

After the fourth message I left you went unreturned, I raided our medicine cabinet and I locked myself in the bathroom while my parents had taken my brother to the zoo. I was supposed to go with them, but I told them I wasn’t feeling well.

What, she’s telling me she tried to kill herself? This is manipulation at its worst.
Come on, Livvy. Let it rest.

I sat on the floor and poured out the contents of seven medicine bottles next to me. I had Trey’s allergy pills, three over-the-counter pain killers, Mom’s migraine meds, Hydrocodone Dad had left over from a knee injury and some anti-nausea tablets. I started crying as I sorted the pills into patterns, and the colors began to blur into captivating shapes. Every time I shuffled them around, attempting to make them lose their order and beauty, they formed another shape that inspired me. At first, I was angry, until I saw the gift that was being presented to me.

Remember the paintings I did in that time period? How they were unlike anything I’d ever done before? That’s why. I took what I saw in the bathroom that day when I was at my lowest point, and I painted.

I’d taken seven pills: one of each.

A lump grows in my throat. Manipulation or not, imagining a world without her is more than I want to think about. It’s one thing for us to be apart. It’s another thing for her family to be without her, for the world to miss out on the amazing talents she has. I read on hurriedly.

After two manic hours of painting, I felt sick to my stomach. I was sweating and my heart felt like it was going to burst from my body. I forced myself to throw up. My parents came home and found me in the bathroom. All evidence of the pills had been hidden away in my bathroom drawer, so they just thought it was a bug. I couldn’t walk to my bed, and I thought about telling my parents what I’d done. My dad carried me to my room, and when he saw the painting, he cried. He called it poignant. Painful. Hopeless. He didn’t call it beautiful.

I knew I had painted something special that day. I knew I wanted to do it again, and if that meant hitting rock bottom again another day and taking another handful of pills, well… that day, it made sense to me.

God, Liv. That never makes sense. That’s never the answer, baby.
I have to set the letter aside for a moment. Thank God she’s okay. I can’t even imagine what the last year of my life would have been like without her. I don’t allow myself to try, picking up a sketch I’d started last night and studying it intently.

It’s a sketch of her. I did it from memory, and it looks just like her. She’s painting in the picture. I’d tried to imagine her with a natural smile and glow on her skin that I used to see so often, but I couldn’t envision it in most scenarios. The only way I could capture that vibrancy was to put her behind a canvas with a brush in her hand. She was always happiest when she was painting. It has been so long since I saw that particular glow. That happiness. That aura. I missed Livvy the artist, and wondered if she’d ever get back to the thing she was most passionate about. I had hopes that it would be easy for her, but after seeing her first painting after months of taking a break, I was scared for her. The ‘muppet’ painting lacked substance.

Something awakens in me. Somewhere along the way, painting came second to me. I was what she was most passionate about… and I think that shift must have changed her. I made her happy, yes, but I was never able to bring out in her the satisfaction that painting brought out in her. I sigh involuntarily, letting that sink in. Did I do this to her? Was she so weak in knowing herself that she allowed me to steal what was most important to her?

Shit
.

It took me a week to get up the courage to take more pills. The second time, I only took five. I didn’t want to end up vomiting again, because I knew I’d raise suspicions in my parents. Again, the painting came easily. What I produced was even better than the first. Even I could see the differences in my work. There was a depth and mood that I’d never been able to capture before. I sat in a stupor for an hour after I completed the second one. At least I think it was an hour. I really don’t know, because my parents struggled to wake me hours later. I’d collapsed on the floor.

Shit, Liv! I am not worth it. No man is worth it.
I feel awful.

I was scared that time. The first time, my body was rejecting the medicines. The second time, it just tried to absorb them. I’m confident I would have woken up on my own at some point, but I wasn’t sure I would be so lucky the next time.

There wasn’t a next time.

I take a few calming breaths. The fact that she’s sending me these letters lets me know she’s okay. Or what if she’s not? What if she wrote these long ago, and is having someone mail them? How do I know for certain that she’s alright this time?

Something had changed in me, and I thought it was an altered state caused by pills that weren’t meant for me, but when I produced the third and fourth paintings, I did them under the influence of water and breakfast cereal. That was it. And they were even better than the previous two. I was grateful. Instead of crediting the drugs, I knew that it was my understanding of a wider range of emotions that guided me to complete that series. I was without you for that period of time, but Jon, I couldn’t have created them without you. You showed me how to feel things I’d never felt before–when we were together and when we were apart.

You don’t realize what you’re doing to me now, Jon. Your absence is palpable. It’s everywhere. Your absence is always present and it hurts like nothing ever has.

And I’m okay. I’m painting.

We aren’t finished.

Intervention

I read over this letter a few times, trying to figure out if this one is a cry for help. She says she’s okay. I don’t think I believe her, though. I’m sure on those days when she’d self-medicated, if her parents had asked her how she was, she probably would have said that she was okay. It worries me.

I pick up my phone and stare at her number programmed in it. I can’t believe how far down my Recents list it is. It’s been nearly five weeks since her graduation. We’ve surpassed the span of time of the last breakup now. Last time, though, I had the chance to see her while we were apart. I sat at the cafe across the street from her school twice, and I walked by the art room one Thursday night, too. I knew she was coping. I knew she had the support of her friends and Donna. That gave me peace of mind.

I don’t want to talk to her now, but I do want to know if she truly is okay, or if she’s just saying that to mask her true desperation. I peek out of my bedroom and look into my aunt’s, seeing her cell phone on her dresser. Sneaking into her room, I pick it up and dial Livvy’s number. As soon as it starts to ring, I panic, trying to figure out what I’ll do when she picks up.

“Hello?” A sense of relief comes over me at the gentle lilt in her voice.

“Uhhh,” I disguise myself poorly, struggling to think of a person I should ask for. “Cameron?” It’s the name of a new guy on the site who I’m responsible for training.

“There’s no one here by that name.”

“Who are they asking for?” I hear someone else say in the background.

“Shhh, Finn!” she says quietly, urgently.

“Sorry, wrong number,” I say quickly, hanging up before I hear any more.

The shopping mall parking lot is packed when we pull in. This is the first time in my life that I can remember my mom having health insurance for us. I was covered under my dad’s while he was alive, but my brothers have never been covered, and I can remember very few doctors’ visits while they were growing up. When they absolutely had to go, we would eat light for awhile, and sometimes I knew Mom had to borrow money from neighbors or friends.

Max and Will have never had their eyes checked, and its been years since I’ve been. I’ve agreed to come now because Max was scared he’d have to get glasses and wanted me, of all people, to help him pick frames that didn’t make him “look like a nerd.” I told him I wasn’t really a good choice for that. “I’m a nerd, and I rather like it,” I had told him.

“You don’t look like one, though,” he’d assured me. It makes me wonder what he thinks a nerd looks like, and why he’s afraid of glasses.

While Max is in with the doctor, Will tries on pair after pair of sunglasses with the assistance of a girl who’s probably still in high school, working a summer job. If he’s trying to flirt, he needs a lot more practice at it. It’s painful watching him, so I stop.

“I’m going to walk around the mall,” my mother tells me, “and see if there are any good sales on shoes.”

“You just bought them shoes,” I remind her.

“For me,” she says. “The women at work say I’ll get more tips if I wear heels.”

I glare at her, shaking my head. I hate to think that’s true. Things like that make me despise our society. Tips should be given on service that exceeds expectations, not on the look of the waitress who serves. After many years of alcohol abuse and lack of attention to herself, my mom has lost the beauty of her younger years.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” she says. “If you’re finished before then, go take them to get some ice cream next door. Do you need some money?”

“I’ve got it, Mom.”

“Okay, Jonny.”

Once she’s gone, I open up my messenger bag, reaching for the laptop Livvy’s parents had given me a year and a half ago. I’d stopped feeling guilty about it some time ago, but every time I see it, I’m reminded of the Holland’s and their generosity. Instead of taking out my computer, I reach for the three letters I’d brought with me.

After hearing Finn’s voice, I wasn’t really in any mood to hear what Livvy had to say to me. When the first letter arrived, I debated throwing it in the trash before I’d even opened it. Eventually, I’d decided against it. When the other two followed, I just filed them away in the drawer with the rest of them.

Bored and curious, I compare the postmarks looking for the earliest one. Two of them were sent on consecutive days. The third was postmarked five days later. I tuck the latter two in my lap and open the first one.

I love you, Jon.

My right thumb feels the texture of the paint in the corner. The feel of it is strangely comforting to me. The word
pride
is etched into the bright green pigment. I don’t like the word very much, because my own pride created dissidence between us on more than one occasion. I’d even fought with her father over it, and almost requested we take a break after that incident. It wasn’t my proudest moment, ironically.

When I left my house for the banquet at Nate’s Art Room, having not seen you in a month, I was beaming with pride. I had made it weeks on my own, without you, and I had created paintings that had been highly praised by everyone who saw them. I couldn’t wait for my students and their parents to see my newest creations, and when I found out you were going to be there, I knew that you were the only audience that mattered. I didn’t paint them for you. I painted them for
me
, but it was the love you’d shown me that allowed me to do so.

Seeing you admiring them from across the room, I wished I had somehow implanted cameras into the canvases so I could see your expression. What if they disappointed you? What if you weren’t impressed, like everyone else was? The fear of a negative reaction from you made me feel weak, but then you turned around, and I saw something in your eyes that put me immediately at ease.

You were proud of me.

I was incredibly proud of her, and even more so when I saw her. I wasn’t surprised when I turned around, though. Her final painting told me I would see a more confident young woman than the one I’d left the month before. It didn’t lie. Although meek and somewhat afraid to approach me, she carried her head higher.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her, but seeing her reminded me of all the reasons I’d loved her in the first place. I wonder what it would do to me now. I wonder, if she walked into this eyeglasses shop right now, if I would remember why I loved her, or why I left her.

Something happened, though, after the banquet began. I honestly didn’t think I could feel higher than I did when I walked into the Art Room that night, but then my dad started talking about you.

Jack’s introduction of me was incredible. If ever I thought the man really didn’t understand me, I couldn’t deny in that moment that he had me figured out. He somehow found a way to separate the Jon Scott that wanted to steal his daughter from the Jon Scott who wanted to change the world someday. I was embarrassed by the amount of compliments bestowed upon me that night, but I, too, had some pride in myself when my award was given to me.

I’d told you before that my world revolved around you, and I truly believed it had. But at that very second, I saw myself as you had seen me a month earlier. The world
did
revolve around Livvy Holland, and that was the only world I’d ever lived in.

I wanted to leave that world that night, and I think I did.

I never really knew what it meant to feel such pride for someone else, but I was absolutely moved by what you’d done, and how far you’d gone to get there. I wanted to be by your side from then on, cheering you on and doing whatever I had to do in order to support your dreams. I think I became a little less selfish that night. I know I’m not selfless. Someday maybe I’ll find enough humility to be that, but I know I’m still not selfless. I think you are, though.

We aren’t finished.

Pride

I’d never thought of myself that way because most of the things I do have been self-serving. I want to elevate myself and my family. I don’t want to be victims of a society that doesn’t care for those less fortunate, so I’ve never let myself feel that way. Isn’t doing things for my family still selfish? I’m not sure. All I know is that most of the things I’ve accomplished were done because I wanted to be a better person.

I guess if other people profited from that, it’s not as selfish as it once seemed to me.

“You’re reading again?” Will asks as he browses the selection of sunglasses on the counter next to me. What he’s really saying is, “you’re reading
her letters
again?”

“Just one,” I admit, looking up. The salesgirl smiles at me with a quick flush of her cheeks. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says back. “Is this your brother?”

“He is. Is he bothering you?”

“Oh, no!” she exclaims. Will kicks my shin. “You both have the same eyes, that’s all.”

We don’t, but I don’t think she’s really had a chance to study mine yet.

“Did you pick those out?” I ask her, pointing to the shades my brother wears.

“No,” she laughs. “I picked these over here.”

She nods her head, requesting me to follow her. I stand abruptly, dropping all three of Livvy’s letters to the floor. I hurry to gather them up and stuff them back in my bag, carrying it with me to another case.

“I’m Audrey,” she says once we’re across the store.

“Jon.” I hold out my hand and shake hers. She’s wearing simple pink nail polish. “Speaking of eyes, yours are beautiful.” I’ve never seen irises like that. The outer two-thirds are variations of dark and light turquoise, but the inner circle surrounding her pupil is brown. “I’m not coming on to you, I swear,” I say with a laugh. “It’s just a fact.”

“Thank you.” She hands me a pair of RayBans, showing me what she’d selected for my brother.

“You’re giving Will way too much credit. He’s not cool enough for these.”

“Are you?”

“Absolutely not,” I laugh harder. “And I don’t think I’ll be getting sunglasses today. I’m fairly certain I’m in for a rude awakening. I’m not seeing details of things far away anymore,” I admit. “Leaves, grass… those types of things.”

“I think glasses would look good on you,” she tells me.

“Yeah?” I ask. “What would you recommend?” I hoist my bag up on my shoulder and follow her to another display. She stands opposite me, putting her hand on my chin and angling my face to hers. She squints, carefully studying my face.

“I’ve got it,” she says as she quickly walks away and takes a pair of glasses out of a different case. We both start laughing when I see them.

“Alright, alright.” I put the frames on, knowing she’s kidding. “What do you think?”

“Close,” she giggles. “Let me find some other ones.”

We go through about ten pairs of insanely horrible glasses that make me wonder who’s designing them before actually settling on a simple pair.

“Those look really nice,” Audrey says. “It’s like you were always meant to wear them.”

“You think?”

She shrugs her shoulders, hesitates, but then says something that catches me off guard. “I’d date you.”

My jaw hangs open slightly for a few seconds as I think of a way to thank her. “Would you? Next Saturday, maybe?” My heart is racing all of a sudden.

She bites her lip as a grin spreads across her mouth. One of her teeth is slightly off-kilter, but it’s cute. “Yeah,” she agrees with a nod.

“Great.”

“Great!” she says, scrawling down her phone number in neat penmanship on the back of some receipt paper.

“Jon?” Max calls to me from behind, sounding sad.

“What is it, buddy?” I turn around, still wearing the frames.

“I have to wear glasses to read,” he says with a frown.

“That’s not a bad thing, right Audrey?” I ask my new friend.

“Who’s this?” she asks.

“This is my other brother, Max.”

“Well, Max,” she begins, “don’t you want to look as handsome as your big brother? I mean, look at him. He’s had these on for three minutes, and already he has a date.”

“What about Livvy?” he asks.

This might be the most awkward silence of my life.

I look at Audrey tentatively. “It’s my ex-girlfriend,” I tell her quietly. “She’s back in New York. We don’t talk anymore, but my brother hasn’t really figured that out yet.”

“You’re from New York?”

“Couldn’t you tell?” I ask, a little relieved that she’s shifted the topic away from Livvy.

“You don’t hide your accent well,” she says.

“I don’t try.”

“It’s cool,” she says. “And I think it’s your turn to see the doctor, Jon.”

“Will, can you watch Max while I get my eyes checked?”

“Yeah,” he says reluctantly, giving me a dirty look when I walk past him. He holds on to my arm for a second, and waits for the sales girl to walk a few more steps away from us. “I was gonna ask her out.”

“Will, come on,” I plead with him. “She’s too old for you.”

“Says who?”

I roll my eyes and follow Audrey into the small room as she instructs me to take a seat.

After settling in, she leans in front of me, looking me in the eyes. “Can I have the frames back?” she says with a slight giggle.

“Oh, oh!” I laugh. “Is that what you want from me?”

“Yeah,” she says, taking them off of me and smiling. “I’ll keep them up front. I’ll give you this, though.” She hands me the small slip of paper with her number on it.

“Thank you. I’ll use it.”

“The doctor will be in shortly. I’ll keep an eye on your brothers.”

“Thanks, Audrey.”

As I wait for the optician, I take out the next letter. After going over one sentence three times and not getting its meaning, I put the note away. My mind’s not on Livvy anymore. Not right now, anyway, and I don’t want to send it back there when I can focus on better things, future things that I’m looking forward to.

I hear Audrey’s voice echoing in my head. She said she’d keep an eye on my brothers, and all of a sudden, I panic. Will’s pissed that I asked her out, for sure. I wonder what he’ll tell her about Livvy.

Where is the doctor?!

After the exam confirms that I need glasses, I return to the sales floor, dreading what awaits me. One angry brother, one that was on the verge of tears when I left him, and a girl who was going to go out with me until she had a few minutes alone with Max and Will.

Please, Will. Don’t mess this up.

“So,” I say, returning to Audrey.

“So,” she counters. “Livvy?” she asks.

“My brother is an idiot,” I tell her quickly. “I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing her anymore and I would really like to take you out on a nice date to thank you for helping me out today. Please don’t let anything Will said change your mind.”

“It was Max,” she whispers. “Will isn’t speaking to me anymore.”

“Oh,” I say, cringing. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. But really? You were dating Livvy Holland?”

“I was, yes,” I admit. “She’s just a girl. Just a girl I was dating, but I’m not anymore.”

Audrey nods her head.

“You’ll still go out with me?” I ask.

“It’s a little intimidating,” she says, “but yes.”

“Don’t be intimidated. Seriously.”

“Okay,” she agrees, settling into a rolling chair. “Now sit down so I can take your measurements.”

“Gotcha.” After I take a seat opposite her, we decide on a burger place that her brother-in-law owns. Before I could even voice my apprehension about meeting anyone in her family on our first date, she tells me he doesn’t actually work there anymore. I like the idea of the casual joint, and really look forward to getting to know her better.

“So. I work until six on Saturday. You can pick up your glasses first, and then take me out. How does that sound?”