Take Me Home | ✔

Chapter Thirty-Seven

november 20th, 2015

copenhagen, denmark. 

Dear Samantha, 

it's been a year and a half since you left, and a lot has happened. First off, lemme just say that a lot of people miss you. Nearly our whole high school senior class showed up for your funeral, and one guy even wanted to steal my seat. I gave it to him, though. I couldn't sit down during that one hour, having to listen to everyone saying speeches about how you were irreplaceable, how you were amazing, and kind, and everything. 

It was a closed casket service. Your mom wanted it. Maybe it was for the best, so I wouldn't have to look at your face one last time, because I probably wouldn't have handled it well at all. 

Also, my mom and dad are living together again. They're still technically divorced, but they're learning to patch things together. I'm really proud of them, actually. Maybe now, Violet won't be so spoiled, since she gets twice the presents for her birthday (she gets what I call the 'sympathy' presents by mom and dad, who pity her for being the middle man -- girl? -- in all of this.) I haven't seen my little sister in a long time, and I didn't even get to see her on her sixteenth birthday last year, which bummed me out (Violet throws pretty awesome parties, without our parent's permission, of course).

In fact, I haven't been home in a long time, actually. 

I went overseas. Shortly after your death, I was accepted to Stanford's abroad program and they shipped me off to Denmark for twelve months to major in -- well, honestly I haven't decided yet. I've been meaning to major in something in history, or something that doesn't involve math. Maybe psychology, since humans are so confusing in the way they think, the way they act, and the way they love; yet they're really interesting. 

Anyway. Denmark is one of the best places I've been to. Maybe the best. I lived in a dormitory in Copenhagen for a year now. The buildings, the harbor, the snow, and especially the people were all so nice and inviting. Most of the people here ride bikes everywhere; there's even a highway for bikes with traffic lights and everything. I had to buy a bike of my own, they look at you pretty distinctly if you don't own some sort of bike.

It's way different from the States. It was refreshing. The distance was a bonus. It made me realize how much I'd love to travel someday. It just takes your mind off of...well, everything you want to forget. 

Do you remember that road trip I took to get to you before you left? The one I took across America? It doesn't top that road trip, but man, it comes pretty close. Did you know it's supposedly the happiest country in the world? Plus, free healthcare, who could hate that? Oh, and did I mention students in Denmark get to go to uni for free? I honestly don't know why I haven't been here sooner. 

That was one of the reasons I accepted. The happiest country, I mean. I was crazy, but I guess I thought the happiness was contagious and I'd get infected... or cured? After your death... I got messed up. That is, that's how I felt. I didn't feel like doing any of the regular things I usually did. I couldn't get over the fact that I wasn't there when you left, and you weren't there when I left, and that I could've been if I had just gotten there sooner. But then I thought, it wouldn't have made a difference. 

What happens, happens. 

I'm sorry. I wish I could have been there with you. And I wish that I would stop blaming other people for something no one can control. 

It's insane how one little thing can just change everything. 

Its been more than a year, and I miss you. But I know that you'd want me to move on. I guess what I was trying to accomplish with writing these letter is to tell you, and tell myself, that it wasn't anyone's fault and that I should beating myself up over it. It doesn't mean I'm forgetting you. You were my first love, honestly. It just means... I'll stop blaming myself.