A World Between - 4. Letters 4 (Revised)

Dear Ryan, I went to see the movie on my own… It was everything you described. I just knew you’d be smiling so hard and proper hyper if you saw it. Man, they tracked down the villain to his lavish mansion on Torc Island. There was this awesome battle scene with Crazy Johnny. He had all this cool machinery attached to his armour, and he blasted through the front gates after landing at the docks on Torc Island. He destroyed everything in his path. There were so many explosions and action; aww… Man, you would have loved it. In the end, they captured the bad guy, and they threw him in Harper Jail and left him there to rot. Sad to say, I think there might be a sequel. But I guess that might be another story for another time.

I also decided to put your hoodie back in my closet. It was wrong to wear it, considering it's yours. I'll leave it there for you when you decide to take it back or something. It's yours, right? I know you would want it again since I found it, but I remember now why it was in my closet. You were staying here on the night, and you left all your stuff in my house while we went out to go… Yeah, maybe I shouldn't talk about that just yet. I'm sorry for even bringing it up. I'm so dumb like you want to know what happened every time I write a letter. Well, I'm assuming you know, but then again, I never get an answer from you. So, I'm not sure if you know. It's just always so quiet on this end. If you are trying to talk to me or send letters - just to let you know, I’m not getting them.

I think this letter was a disaster as soon as I put pencil to paper. I mean, look at the atrocious handwriting. I can’t do anything right. I’m probably upsetting you, and that's why you don’t want to talk to me. It’s just… the conversation feels a little one-sided. I'd desperately like you to write me back, but I know somewhere deep down it’s impossible. Though that doesn’t stop me from hoping I’d get a letter from you out of the blue. I feel a little annoyed that you won’t answer me, and I know it's not your fault. I just… I miss your voice. I called your phone today again. It still has your voicemail; for once, I felt like I was talking to you again. But as soon as I spoke up and called "Ryan," the beep of the automated message sounded and told me to leave my message. Your voice is so soft-sounding and harsh when you say the word YOUR. I’ve listened to the same message about a thousand times. Even more, you know… since. You never picked up your cell… you were always bad at that. I'd call, and you'd always take forever to answer or usually, you'd end up calling me back. I'll never understand how you'd never manage to pick up on the first ring. Especially since your phone was always glued to your left hand. But I think now since I've been paying extra attention to your voice and how you say it on the message that I've somehow memorized it.

The message goes like, "Hey it's Ryan… he's busy trying to cosy up to YOUR Mom… If you must talk with him, leave your name and digits after the tone.”

The way you said your… it's so harsh sounding compared to the rest of the message. It's almost deliberately alluring. It almost shows you're crazy and funny side all at the same time, even though you are sarcastic. Every syllable fell softly with every word you spoke. That's what you had, Ryan, a voice of reason, even though you were or are still a sarcastic basket case.

Guess where I am today. I'm sitting in the playground outside the town park. This is where we met. Our first rivalry: you were blocking the slide for the kids who wanted to use it. And what did I do, I butted my way in, insisting I was using the slide regardless of what you thought. After I went down the slide, I came back up for a second go, and you deliberately sat in the slide so I couldn't do it again. It was annoying at the time, but now I find it funny. You were sitting there in your winter jacket and pom-pom hat, sulking for what I had done. I can't rightly remember why you were blocking it, but I remember you asking me for money to go down it. Maybe that's what you were up to, you were looking for money. I remember pushing you down the slide, and then I got into it after you; with every nudge and shove from my feet, we finally got down the entire slide. I think you were amazed by my audacity because after we got to the end of the slide, you sat on one of the benches and sulked for a while. I went about playing without a bother in the world.

Then the swings cleared up, and I made my way towards them. I started swinging, but stopped when you came over. I wasn't sure what to think, but you sat down beside me on the adjacent swing and pondered for a moment.

Then out of nowhere you stuck out your hand to me and said, "Hey, I'm Ryan… Sorry about the slide thing."

And one thing led to another, and I shook your hand. I don't know why I was still annoyed at you, or maybe I did not care all that much. But I am glad I did shake on it. That's where I am right now; I'm sitting on the right swing where I sat, and you had relaxed on the left swing. It's hurtful to glance over and expect you to be sitting on that piece of rubber, but no it just remains empty. It sways back and forth effortlessly with the breeze, with a creak from the chains.

I just glanced over again…. Sigh… I should finish this letter and get home. It looks like it's going to rain soon and I have no jacket. I'll write again; for some reason, I keep thinking if I peek up the bottom of the slide, that I'd uncover you are hiding inside it, and that's where you have been hiding the last couple of months, but no… I know where you are.

Anyway, Night Dude.

Jake.