(By the way this is not the end).
I’m sitting here writing this freakin letter and there’s really no point. I don’t want to be here. I guess all of this writing stuff is supposed to help me out or something, but I don’t have anything to say. Maybe I’m supposed to apologize for what I did, but I can’t apologize if I’m not sorry. And I’m not. I can’t even let myself be a little sorry because that motherfucker deserved everything. He really did. Well I hope everything is okay with you and Drake and all. I would write more but it’s pretty dark in here right now and the guy next to me keeps snoring in his sleep. I guess I should say that I miss you and I didn’t mean to fuck everything up. Honest to God. Well, you can tell Drake that I said hi. I know he won’t understand or anything, but I’d like to meet him one day. Except don’t tell him who I really am. He’s probably better off not knowing, you know? Well, you don’t have to write back, but maybe you could send a picture. That’d be cool.
JP.
It is a single letter written on a yellowed piece of notebook paper in sprawling blue ink. I can’t quite make out the date, but I know that it was sent sometime last June. I took off in April and never got a chance to come home until this weekend. It’s November. Drake is almost a year old.
I unclasp my purse and search for my wallet. Drake in his dragon costume on Halloween. Drake and our tomcat Prince Charming. Drake showing off a new set of tiny teeth. I thumb through the photographs that somehow managed to make up the past year, which really only seemed like a month. Or a dream.
I slide the pictures back into place without selecting one. Maybe I could send a picture.
Maybe not.
Then I reach deep into the dusty drawers that used to make up my dresser in the bedroom I shared with Suzanne. Drake’s taking a nap on the bed. There’s only one bed now. It’s Suzanne’s.
I pile what’s left of my wardrobe into a tattered suitcase pausing every few seconds to watch Drake’s chest rise and fall. I feel out of place in this room full of pink and porcelain dolls whose eyes burn holes through my soul. Suzanne never liked them either. Drake’s chest moves up and down as steady as a drum.
JP used to play the drums, but that was a long time ago.
The front door opens and swings shut with its usual scream. I hold my breath. Maybe it’s Suzanne.
It’s not.
“What the fuck are you doing here? I should call the cops on your ass. This is a break-in. Haven’t heard from you in months and now you’re here thieving things out of drawers that don’t belong to you anymore.” He’s slurring and his face is a shadow of unshaven hair. I cringe, but mostly for Suzanne.
Drake startles in his sleep. I scoop him into my free arm and clutch the suitcase in my other hand.
“Just wanted to get a few of my things. I’m not here to start any trouble. I’ll leave.”
I try to push past him but he stands in the doorframe and stares at me through drunken eyes that burn holes through my soul.
“Heard you're dancin’.”
I don’t reply.
“Jesus, don’t be doing that whore shit Brooke.”
He rocks back and forth on his heels and I’m afraid he’ll fall on top of me while I’m holding Drake. I back away.
“Don’t back away from your good old Dad.” He laughs and his breath smells like stale cigarettes and Busch beer. Then he starts to cry fast, fat, ugly tears. “I’m fucked up Brooke. I’m sorry I’m fucked up.”
My heart hardens so that I don’t cry too.
“I’m so sorry Brooke. Look at you standing there with that baby in your arms. Bet those are the only arms he’ll ever know. I swear I’d shoot that motherfucker JP if he ever got out of lockdown. Heard he’s in for a while. Bet the big guys fuck ‘em up. He always was a little turd.”
A little turd.
We laugh.
We’re a tragedy, the three of us cooped up in a pink room full of porcelain dolls. But we laugh anyway. I laugh through a broken heart and thick skin. He laughs through tears and years of intoxication. Drake laughs through sleepy eyes and a new set of tiny teeth.
“Hey little buddy,” he slurs. “He’s lucky he’s too young to understand. Don’t tell him who I really am. He’s better off not knowing.”
I kiss him on the cheek and send him off to bed. Then I scribble a short note to Suzanne on the back of JP’s letter and tuck it in the corner of the mirror.
I leave to save myself, my soul, my sanity.
But mostly I leave for Drake.
