Dear You

Dear You,

I remember how rough my jumper felt during the summer, how the grey plaid stuck to my skin under the hot lights of the cloudless sky; the asphalt shivered like the sandy hills of a desert. Recess ended with the flick of a wrist, setting off the big gold bell to call across the parking lot and tug at our ears.

But then I'd walk through the hallways, blinking furiously to adjust to the dark, cave-like atmosphere. Your room was a haven, filled with pillows smelling of attic and shelves of children's books just waiting to be read. You sat us in a circle at a little faux wood table. We'd open our textbooks and begin.

I could imagine the lessons going on upstairs, in the classroom I should have been sitting in had I not shown a lack of improvement in my reading skills. But I was happy to be with you - to gently decipher a story with both laughter and furrowed brows. Even then, your face was a translucent map of green-veined highways. Sometimes a curl of your hair would peek out of the veil. The cross that hung from you neck tapped the table whenever you bent over table to sound out a word.

You used to shake your tin of Jolly Ranchers after every lesson, before letting us back upstairs for a grueling mathematics lesson or afternoon prayers. When I stuck my hand into the tin, the wrappers made a sssh sssh sssh sound like moths' wings. You always kept enough cherry and watermelon stocked so that we'd leave the room happy, the hard candy turning our tongues red and creating an orchestra of teeth-clanking all the way up the staircase.

I wanted to let you know how much those lessons meant to me - how, ironically, to everyone but you, I ended up pursuing a life of reading and writing. To see you smile, to hear your voice and feel a shaky hand on my shoulder... but perhaps you're doing that now. I believe that somehow, you do know. And, just maybe, you're smiling at me now.

All the Best,

Me

So this is a post I've been meaning to make for a long time, but it's something I struggled over when trying to come up with who I wanted to write to. The answer came to me in a text message, believe it or not. That message contained information about someone who was very dear to me in my childhood and, once remembered, I put my fingers to the keyboard and began to write.

This idea orginated from Heather, but my blogging pal Melee suggested it - and I'm so glad I've finally written one. I don't have anyone in particular to pass it on too, but please, if you're reading this post, feel free to give it a shot. You must write a letter to someone, but use only pronouns - and it must start with "Dear You."

Picture from here.