Dear Stewbie,
You know I feel really stupid writing this. Because.. you’re dead. But I think I should. I never really let myself dwell on it before. Certainly not when it happened. I just couldn’t deal. (And I couldn’t deal with not dealing. God, I can so thoroughly repress things that I scare myself sometimes.)
I was thinking about you last night. The weather is just like it was on those nights when I used to fall asleep on the bench in my backyard, waiting for you to come to me. And when you did, you’d sneak up without waking me so that you could watch me sleep.
My life would probably be so drastically different if you hadn’t chosen to die. That doesn’t really bear thinking about, though, does it? There isn’t much point, because you did.
You told me that I was the only person who ever bothered to “look past the stupid shit you did and see the good that was in you.” I’ve never forgotten that. You were wrong, though. I didn’t look past anything. I just saw you, stupid shit n’all. And stupid shit or not, I liked you. The truth is, you were the only person who wanted me. Or the only person with the guts enough to say anything about it to me.
I loved seeing you and Mr. Worden in the hall, leaning against the wall, the two tallest guys in the school, and my two favorite. God, I dreaded telling you that he was gone. I imagined you sitting in jail just brooding about that for lack of anything else to think about.
You know, I never meant to hurt you. Ever. And that night I told you to go away, I still loved you. I was just scared. Shit. If I’d known what you were going to do. But I didn’t. And it doesn’t matter, because I still blame myself. I don’t think any amount of rationalizing or talking about it or writing letters that you’ll never read will ever make that guilt go away. That’s just something time will have to take care of.
That was, without a doubt, the worst day of my life. Just so you know. Including all the shit that’s happened to me. None of it comes close to that day.
I remember being in the ROTC office, doing nothing, shooting the shit with Sarge while he was reading the paper. Man, Sarge loved me. He’s probably never forgotten it either, and I sincerely hope he doesn’t still kick himself for the way I found out. He said something about a student of the school sitting on the railroad tracks and letting the train hit him. “Damn shame,” he said. “Now why would anyone want to do a thing like that?” He asked me. “I dunno, sir. Who was it?”
When he told me.. It was like everything around me just gave way. I remember saying your full name, just to be sure it was you. I don’t remember much after that. I don’t remember leaving the ROTC office. I don’t remember if Sarge said anything else to me. I don’t think I said anything to him. I don’t remember leaving the school. I still to this day don’t know who excused my absence from the rest of my classes, but someone did. I never heard a thing about it. I don’t remember the walk home. I do remember grabbing that stupid neon light phone that we’d spent so many hours on and curling up in bed with it. I don’t know why. I probably wouldn’t have answered it if it rang. I clearly remember Evans knocking on the door sometime later that afternoon to tell me when and where your funeral was, but I never could remember later what he’d said, only the gist of what he was telling me, and the look on his face. I don’t know why I remember that. He looked like he wanted to say or do something else, but he didn’t.
I know I didn’t cry. Not that day, or the day after. Not for years.
I didn’t go to your funeral. Even if I could have remembered what Evans told me, I didn’t want to. And I don’t regret it. I wanted to kill your father. I wanted to kill him and he wanted to fuck me. I just figured it was better not to have that confrontation. Even though you would have thought it was funny as hell.
I was pissed at you for shooting that guy and going to jail. I was pissed at you for beating the other guy half to death while you were in jail, although I understand the reasons, and I was touched. Sort of.
But I was really pissed at you when you died. Because it hurt me like nothing else ever had. And I thought you loved me too much to hurt me like that. That’s what you told me.
You were always so completely sweet to me.. I used to think it was hilarious that people thought you were a monster and were terrified of you, but you’d go home and call me and pour your heart out to me and call me Kitty Cat and do anything for me. (My security system. Let me showz you him.)
There are so many things I would have told you.
I loved to hear you giggle.
I loved making you smile.
I think of you ever time I hear Angel Eyes, and Where Ever I May Roam.
I loved the time I had with you.
Every now and then, I stop what I’m doing and think of you. And I always will.
-Katze