By Natalie Meyer
February 26th
Dear Celeste,
Every morning when I wake, I imagine you still beside me, the weight of your body pressing into the mattress and the chill breath of air from only having half the blankets. The bed is much too big for only me, and every time I hear a creak from down the hall or on the stairs, I still turn to look, on the chance you might be standing there, wrapped in your favorite cerulean sweater and gazing at me with that perfect smile of yours.
I still love you with everything I have. You are the sun that rises to brighten my skies, to rid the planet of all its dreary dawns. You are the river that flows through the forest sprouting in my mind, pumping life into my veins. How would I ever live without you if you were truly gone?
I’ve been calling your phone day after day. I’d like to imagine you just have poor reception wherever you are now, and that you’d pick up as soon as you heard the messages I left.
Forever yours,
Jay
* * *
March 3rd
Celeste,
I can’t understand why you’d leave me like this. The children we were supposed to have, the trip we planned to visit Cancún once you finally got that promotion at work. Am I just supposed to throw all that away?
You left me alone in this big house, with this big yard. We were going to split the chores, fifty-fifty. I wash the dishes, and you water the garden. I hang the laundry out to dry. You fold it. We can’t be a team if you’re gone.
Your father called this morning. He asked me to come by and have dinner with him and help him go through all your childhood things. Seems like I’m not the only one you abandoned here.
Was it the fight we had before your appointment? When you said you couldn’t stand to look me in the eye? Because I was right. You were being selfish. Anything can be called experimental the first few times it’s done, and your body was tearing itself apart as it were.
Sometimes, you’ve got to take the risk.
—Jay
* * *
March 7th
Dear Celeste,
Last night, we had a terrible rainstorm. The clouds stretched for miles, and the thunder shook the house until I was sure the paneling would come tumbling off the roof. You would’ve loved it, watched the water run down the glass and smile at me, make some comment about how the earth needed this. And you’d be right, and I’d kiss your forehead and tell you I love everything about you.
We could have that again, if only you’d come home.
We could go out to the garden, clip the hydrangeas and forget-me-nots, put them in that speckled navy vase you made in the pottery class you took in college. They could sit on the windowsill in the kitchen, above the sink beside the crystal bird you told me was a mountain bluebird. For now, I put your ring in that spot. Maybe it’ll charge the sapphire’s energy for whatever purpose it’s supposed to have.
I made you a fresh blueberry pie, too. It’s on the table now. It smells incredible, and we can share a slice or two.
But only once you’re home.
With all my heart,
Jay
* * *
March 15th
Dear Celeste,
I know it’s been a little while since I’ve written to you last, and for that I’m truly sorry. I haven’t been able to get out of bed recently, even to pick up my pen.
These gray skies just won’t let up, and I’m starting to think they’re going to last forever. They’ve been pressing down on me with such an immense weight, suffocating me until I can feel my vision going dark at the corners.
When I was little, I used to read under my covers at night. The blanket would always fall down over my face and block the book from my view, and I’d always end up casting it aside in a fit of sheer annoyance. And now the world has become that blanket, smothering me without a second thought. As much as I’ve been trying to finish my story, I fear that I am preparing to throw the world, that terrible thing, to the floor and stomp on it with all that I have left.
And I know that if I do, I will collapse where I stand and never rise again.
I’m sorry, my love. I wish I could be stronger.
Yours until the end,
Jay
* * *
March 18th
Dear Celeste,
Well. It’s Saturday now, and the clouds finally broke. When I went downstairs this morning, I found your ring sitting in a perfect beam of sunlight like it was basking in it. I picked it up and I think you were right. It felt heavier somehow, and I felt lighter, and I held it close, and I knew you were watching me and smiling. I think I might try to wear it. It doesn’t quite fit on any of my fingers, but I could get a chain and make it into a necklace. That way I can have it touching my heart.
I made myself coffee this morning. Without cream, without sugar. You know how I like it. But it tasted so sweet, especially poured into your favorite mug, the one that has that beautiful printed ocean scene. It tasted like everything was going to be OK, like everything was working itself out.
When I finished the coffee, I put on that Prussian blue blazer you bought me, back when I was looking for new jobs in the city, the one you said made my eyes really shine. It looked so nice. I’m not ready to go back to work just yet, but I think I’m getting there. Another week maybe, if it all keeps going this way.
I think this may be my last letter to you. You’ll always be in my heart and my mind, and I’ll still wake up at night, turning over to see a face that isn’t there, and never will be again. But I’ll be okay. It’s what you would’ve wanted, isn’t it?
Goodbye, my love. We’ll be together again, when it’s finally time. I’ll tell your dad you wish him well.
Love,
Jay
*. * *
Natalie Meyer is currently working towards her English B.A. and spends any free time writing, drawing, and editing for the literary magazine at her school. When she isn’t on campus, she can be found playing Dungeons & Dragons in her hometown outside of Philadelphia, PA. Some of her previous work has appeared in Howler Literary Magazine and Fine Print Literary Magazine.