My Song

It's not often that I write by hand to people, so when I do I try at the very least to make it legible. People that I write with any commonality at all don't end up getting carefully picked words or the best penmanship. But sometimes you have to pen that letter that, irregardless of the content, must be constructed with the utmost precision.

I finished reading some older journals with Alpha's upcoming marriage on my mind. Though we are not the closest of friends anymore, we never managed (at times, against common sense) to cross the line into being anything less than friends. Writing a congratulatory letter felt a bit obligatory, I'll admit, but it's also something I felt I should do out of more than the necessity of being polite.

It didn't take long at all to jot down about a page and a half, which is probably more than a congratulatory letter should be anyway. I proofed it very quickly, and then readied myself to ink a copy to mail. As I began to write, though, I realized that my heart wasn't in anything I'd written. To boot, half of it probably would have been looked upon by anyone who knew our history with distaste as being too illusory, and so I was back to square one with a loss of what to say.

Figuring that anything was better than just ignoring it, I tried to write out the words that I didn't really feel, starting out:

"It is with the greatest of joy that my soul is able to sing for you at this most significant intersection in your life."

What I ended up writing in a sloppy hand was:

"It is with the greatest of joy that my soul vomits fetid crap onto this paper with the most perennial consistency."

It just wasn't there. I didn't feel the "greatest of joy." If I have a soul it isn't "able to sing." And "most significant intersection" sounds about as diplomatic as the rest of the letter. It reads like a boring essay, without emotion or care.

As I finished reading through those old journals, I found a few things I might've sent in place of a heartless letter. I found a poetic piece I'd written and totally forgotten about that had "I am a flower in eternal bloom" in each first line followed by a little something or other. I thought about changing it from 'I am' to 'you are' and throwing that at her. Ultimately, it was equally heartless and probably even more inappropriate.

At some times I would send her letters that had only one line. I might mail her a letter that simply said "I love you" or "I miss you" or some such lover's catch-phrase in the middle. Now, I considered that that might be a very effective but simple way to get the job done.

My first attempt came out, "From this valley they say you'll be going."

Now, if you know the words to that song, it's probably the truest thing I could've said. But it was also, by far, the least called for considering the situation and about as far from a congratulations as it could be.

I decided to tackle it the next day, and, aided by the clarity of morning grogginess, I realized that I had it right the first time: my letter read like an essay, without emotion or care, because I had no emotion toward it and just plain didn't care. This event, which should affect me even more deeply than most people connected to her, was met by me with total apathy.

"It is with the greatest joy that my soul is able to sing for you at this most significant intersection in your life."

Untrue.

"...with both immodest and unreserved pride that I imagine this coming union."

Lie.

"...I now retract such prolonged silence to offer my deepest hopes for your future."

Fake.

"I have no doubts whatsoever concerning your upcoming success as a woman, wife, mother, artist, and most importantly, as a human being."

Ha.

"...know that you will be welcomed with all the warmth a humble comrade can give, and that whatever man you call your husband will always have a seat ready amongst my brothers."

Like hell.

It reads like a speech at an awards ceremony for mentally handicapped cub scouts. Although I did say some things that I meant wholeheartedly ("I once assured you that the best ending in the world doesn't mean a thing if the pages leading up to it are empty and meaningless") for every honest point I made, it either turned out to be totally off topic or I made two more false slaps to drown it.

When I really face myself with it I know that, in reality, I don't have any obligation to write this letter. Time and again I've been used as little more than a leaning post. I don't know why that, in the case of this one person, I have been utterly useless to be able to rile my anger or spite, and on all accounts have always been able to continue loving just as much someone who, in actuality, I should have written off as a traitor long ago.

This kind of love, which has always been reserved for only my brothers, seems to have finally manifested into what it ultimately was meant to. For, as the cliché goes, if you truly love it, you've got to set it free. I understand that it is not heartlessness, carelessness, or apathy that has dictated my total lack of feeling here. It's the fact that I was feeling only one thing, love, and acting on that and that alone. For all my suffering and blood these past years with her, I have been able to overcome myself...her...and the both of us to finally open the cage and walk away.

The closing to my letter was simple and, reading it now, the only thing I'd truly wish to offer Alpha in her upcoming marriage and life:

"Mazel Tov."

"Good Luck."