[A Letter]
[He reads the letter a few times before sitting down with pen and paper to work on a response. It's a black pen, and his handwriting is the same as it's always been, clean and upright with hard downward flourishes at the ends of words, quick, dashed off, but legible. It's sent in a plain white envelope to the address at the motel.]
Steve, You never told me you wrote me letters. I wish I could say I wrote you some back, but it wouldn't be true. I wrote them in my head, though, after I woke up out of things a couple years ago. Figure I was listening, somehow. Maybe they only came through the mail when I was asleep. You don't have to thank me.
I figured you had a good reason, because you always do. Somebody somewhere needed you for something, and you went, am I right?
I liked the drawings better. I think anybody would like looking back at themselves the way you see them better than staring square at the real thing. [A blot.] I don't know if I can tell you what it's like, looking at the photos. I guess it's the same as if somebody sent you a photo they took when you didn't know anybody was watching. You can't really remember why you were where the picture was taken, but you can tell it's you, and you recognize the people. I remember the cold. I hate the fucking cold.
I get that kind of feeling you're talking about when I try to think my way through French. Comprends tu? Last week I had to deal with a French-Canadian guy who got caught setting houses on fire with his brain for the insurance money. Talk about a waste. I had to try to talk him down, I think he maybe understood half of what I told him. Blazing fire everywhere, and I didn't realize how cold I was until I got home.
I guess Repose is home. It's a pretty good place for it. It's got distance on the city, and it's somewhere I've never lived, and I like the people here. I miss the city. Maybe someday, I'll go back. I like the lake, though, and the shops. They remind me more of growing up, what I remember. Knowing somebody's name if they ran a shop, seeing the same person every time I go in, knowing everybody lives somewhere inside a few miles. People hold each other accountable for things. All that goes to shit when fighting hits a little town like this, and most of the ones I've seen were in war zones. So it's different.
You know I hate surprises, asshole. You're going to laugh, but I guess I missed my own birthday. At least one of us stayed pretty. What the fuck are you doing in Nevada? Get out of there. The only thing I hate worse than the cold is a desert.