Letters to Lestat

What a Difference Two Years Makes

(Two Years Later)

What can I say? So much has happened over these last couple of years. And I know what you are thinking. No, Loden and I have not been in touch. We tried to Skype each other those first few weeks after he left, but soon that stopped. I'd expected as much, so I've moved on. At least I've tried to move on.

Anyway, I'm in my senior year, and believe it or not, I'm not such a social misfit anymore. I actually have a couple of friends. There's Margo who's this funny girl who never takes herself seriously, loves to gab, and amazingly enough, has a thing for The Vampire Chronicles. Then there's Bryan who's like the coolest guy friend a girl could have. He's smart and genuine and thoughtful. He's got all this interesting stuff about him that nobody would ever imagine. The guy can do all this amazingly cool stuff on his skateboard and he has this baseball card collection in the tens of thousands. Way crazy. For the last year and a half, it's been the three of us against the world. And these last three months, especially, I've counted on their friendship and support more than ever. Not only that, but I've also begun writing the letters again. Turning to Lestat has helped me to cope during the most devastating time in my life.

When you're seventeen and hopeful, you think you have the whole world at your fingertip. You never think about any bad stuff that could hit home. You feel invincible, unstoppable, youthful...everything has promise. Why would I think otherwise? After all, I was in my last year of high school. I had two of the world's greatest besties. What came next for me could only be even better, right? Oh, how I wish that were so, but life has a way of tossing you a curve ball when you think you have the game all figured out. My curve ball came three months ago when I lost my father to colorectal cancer.

This has been my nightmare, and I've been living it since his death. I've also been dealing with all these feelings, especially anger. I'm just so angry with God. I'm angry at the world. I'm angry with people. And, yes, I'm angry with my mom...and my dad because they kept this from me. I don't know why. Maybe they were hoping in some miracle, some hope against hope that the cancer would go away and he'd get better. All I know is that in that single decision, they robbed me of time, time that I could have spent with him. Now, he's gone.

So, yeah, I'm angry because they should have told me and they didn't. They didn't trust me to be able to handle his illness, and now I'm without a father, and I don't know what to do about that. Mom's been insisting that I go to counseling, and just to spite her, I've refused. Instead, I write my letters. I cling to what little solace I can gain from turning to Lestat. Still, the loss is almost unbearable. It feels as if I'm drowning in the pain and I don't know what to do about it. I just want him back...I just want my dad back.

***

Like always, Margo and Bryan met me at my locker between periods. What was different this time were these strange looks on their faces. "Why are you two looking at me like that? You're scaring me."

Bryan placed his hand on my shoulder, cast his eyes downward for a second then back up at me before speaking, "Chloe, you know I wouldn't tell you this if I didn't think you needed to hear it, but I really think you need to go talk to someone, someone who can help. We both do."

"What are you talking about?" I replied, stuffing the books from last period into my locker. "You mean like a counselor or somebody?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"Now you sound like my mother."

"No, we sound like your best friends who hate seeing you like this," said Margo. "You just lost one of the most important people in your life. I mean, I can't imagine what that feels like, but I look at you and I know it's still tearing you apart. You have to talk to someone, Chloe, someone who is trained to help you get through this. You have to. I'm scared of what might happen to you if you don't."

"Listen, guys, I really don't want to hear this right now. And I don't want to talk to anybody. I don't want to share my feelings or lay on some stranger's couch bawling my eyes out about loss and death or whatever it is people talk about. So just drop this, okay?"

"Chloe, we can't do that, not when we think this will help you."

"You guys are driving me crazy with this. I just don't wanna go!" Of course, my raised voice caused some of the other kids at their lockers to look our way. Kids had already been careful around me after finding out about my dad. I suspect many of them were just waiting for me to crack...to have my breaking point, even though I was doing all that I could not to let that happen.

Bryan replied, "You know we're not going to give this up, right?"

"He's right. We'll keep bugging you until you give in." I cut my eyes at them both then released a long sigh.

"Oh my god, you two drive me insane sometimes. Seriously! So, here's the deal, if I agree to see someone for one session, will you two get off my back about this? That's all I'm willing to promise at this point."

And just like two kids on Christmas, huge grins came over their faces. To be honest, I couldn't say why I had such an aversion to counseling besides refusing to go to spite my mother. I mean, if there was a chance that talking to a professional could help me sort some things out, then that couldn't be all that bad, right? I'd give anything to be able to rewind time and have my dad back—to hear his voice again, see his face, laugh at his silly jokes, but none of that would ever be. So, maybe the best thing I could do is learn how to live with that reality.