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CHAPTER4
Dear Carmen,
You might be surprised to get a letter from me like this. It's been one month since I last tried contacting you. Whatever you think, I am calling not to be bailed out of trouble again but to tell you that I am leaving.
You said things the last time we were together that really hit home. They were things people have been telling me, Robin, especially, but it's you that reached something inside me that made me think. You were there from the early days of Seismic, so you're one of the few people who know me best. The number who believe me as you do - well, that's only you.
After you dropped me off, I couldn't stop thinking. I was angry and disappointed that you wouldn't help me anymore. We were friends. We are friends. I was wallowing in it, so I didn't realize how much I have been hurting you. I guess I'm a hero of sorts in your eyes? If I am, I wish you'd look elsewhere. I'm no one to be looked up to, least admired. I'm more deplorable than you think, and it isn't because of the drugs and alcohol. I don't deserve someone like you.
If you think of replying to my letter, The Retreat isn't one of those centers that aggressively tackle addiction problems. It's a forgiving place. I can come and go as I please. We're assigned little tasks first - mine is cooking and cleaning up the kitchen - before we progress to bigger ones and start getting rewards. Rewards are net access for an hour or a day of doing whatever we want. Things like that. So I'm writing you an old-fashioned letter because all I have now, aside from dishpan hands and the bare necessities, is pen and paper. That's it.
I'll end here. I just thought to write in case you wonder where I went. You're all about tough love, but you have a marshmallow heart for Ramiro. This proves I didn't die choking on my vomit because I passed out drunk. A month may be too soon to say anything, but I'm not as fucked up anymore.
Yours, Ramiro.
September 30
Dear Carmen,
Still angry with me? I don't blame you.
Writing you this letter isn't going to help me at all with you, but . . . I'm still doing it. There's something about writing letters that's therapeutic. Is it the soft whisper of the pen across the paper? Is it because I imagine you just across from me as I write this, your ridiculous eyes looking very blue. You do have silly eyes. That's what prompted me to write this. The sea over here shines like sapphires at a particular hour in the day, and I was reminded of you.
That last time you got me, you told me you were engaged? To some guy? Oliver? Something like that? How's that?
Carmen, I said in my previous letter that I wished you'd admire someone else because all your efforts would be wasted on me. I take it back. I can handle my father not thinking so much of me; Robin believes everyone is an idiot. But you - I can't deal with you thinking so little of me. So I hope, as always, you didn't do as I asked.
While cleaning the kitchen, I heard an old Seismic song on the radio. `Battle at Blood.' Do you remember the night it was written? Euan and I are just fiddling with our guitars. You were on the couch sleeping. It's the fastest song we've ever done. I miss working with Euan. I forget how you looked when we played that song to you. You looked ready to kill us because we woke you up, but you smiled when I started singing. You sat up and hugged your knees. You watched me sing with those eyes.
I miss the old days.
I miss you.
Yours, Ramiro.
October22
Dear Carmen,
Today was my last with kitchen duties. I've advanced to cleaning the bedrooms on the second floor, and from there, who knows?.
I know you're getting my letters but are you still angry with me? I am sorry, Carmen. Last week, the session's topic was taking accountability for our actions. I blame no one for why I turned to substances. But hurting you - unfortunately, that's all me.
We have group sessions and also individual sessions. The latter is optional, but I want to get to the heart of my problems. The shrink says I'm resistant but who won't be? I'm an asshole, but I do not relish sitting on a couch for an hour telling some stranger things about myself. I'd rather it be you.
How are things? Are you still engaged?
You're not answering me; you still want to drown me, OR you're fucking all over. By God, Carmen, behave yourself.
Yours, Ramiro
From: [email protected]
Date: November 1
Subject: Hello
