Dear Jacques,
I hate everything. I hate every white square on my calendar. I doubt you’re even past Newark, but you might as well be halfway to Mars, because either way, I can’t kiss you again for another twelve days.
Can we just rewind to Friday afternoon? I keep scrolling back to your text saying you were finally pulling into Penn Station (look, I’m not trying to be dramatic about this, but it was starting to feel like your train was being pulled by a single elderly mule). But then you stepped into the concourse in your Haverford sweatpants, looking so bowled over by the entire concept of Manhattan.
Simon, I don’t know if you noticed the giant Oreo donut sign outside Krispy Kreme, but you ran straight past it, into my arms (greatest compliment of my life, hands down). And then I held your face and kissed you in the middle of Penn Station, because apparently public kissing is a thing I do now. What’s your deal, Simon Spier? Are you made of magnets or what?
Anyway, now I’m sitting here staring at my laptop, trying to find the words to explain how it felt to have you here again. I . . . don’t even have a frame of reference for it. Like, I keep thinking about Garrett, and how it’s been a month since I’ve seen him. And that sucks, don’t get me wrong, but it’s like going a month without waffles or something. Not seeing you until your fall break? That’s like twelve days without water.
And now I miss you even more, because you’re all over my dorm room. The Oreo boxes in my trash can, the song lyrics on my whiteboard. Even this laptop. How am I ever going to use it for homework when it just makes me miss watching your absolute shitshow top thirty life hack videos on YouTube? (For the record, though, I do NOT miss those shitshow videos. I just miss you leaning your head on my shoulder while we watched those shitshow videos.)
And then there’s my bed. How am I ever going to sleep there again without remembering how little sleeping we did in it?
Love,
Blue
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: SEP 23 AT 8:19 PM
SUBJECT: PRETTY SURE I MISS YOU MORE
Abraham. Romeo. Greenfeld. I think I need a minute here. (Not for that. Mind out of the gutter. I just have to, like, catch my breath. Or something.) I mean, THAT? That was a love letter. Bram, I’m blushing. This is junior year all over again. I feel like my secret email boyfriend just told me he imagines me fantasizing about sex (HEY BLUE, REMEMBER THAT?).
I swear, everyone thinks you’re so freaking innocent, but then you sign into gmail and it’s like BAM. Innuendo. Sex grenade. How little sleeping we did?? I mean, you’re not wrong, but WOW. And the best part’s how you had this whole food itinerary, with the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que restaurant and the hipster ice cream parlor. Which I’m sure are delicious (who doesn’t love eating dinosaurs?). But peanut butter toast and never leaving your dorm room tasted pretty great, too. ☺
A FEW IMPORTANT CORRECTIONS. First things first: “I always wanted to stumble into someone like you.” That, sir, is no song lyric. It’s a book quote (does this mean there’s a book on this earth you haven’t read yet??). Second things second, shitshow?? Are you saying you don’t need a succulent vase made out of a spray-painted doll’s head?
God, I’m so bad at this. Here I am going on about dinosaurs and YouTube and 5-Minute Crafts, when all I really want is to write is I miss you. Because HOLY SHIT, I MISS YOU. You know, I thought I was fine when I boarded the train. But then you texted me our selfie from Shake Shack, and that was it. That picture. It was just so us, with me looking like I was going to burst out laughing, and you with that deer-in-the-headlights, anime-eyes face you get whenever there’s a straw in your mouth. Bram, it destroyed me. Like, it just hit me all of a sudden how that moment is OVER. And we’ll never, ever get it back. (God, even as I’m writing this, I know it’s so weird and over-the-top. Look at me having an existential crisis over a five-minute pit stop at Shake Shack.)
But I kept thinking about last year, and the year before that, and how being near you was this everyday thing I took completely for granted. And we don’t get to go back. We don’t get to do high school again. And, yeah, I knew that intellectually, but I don’t think I fully processed it until now. I guess being on a literal express train away from you really made it sink in.
So now I’m back in my room with Kellan and his friend Grover (no REALLY), who has a guitar, and can sing, and is currently playing “Hey There Delilah” for the twentieth time. I think he’s trying to teach it to himself. I feel like I should be annoyed, but I’m just so drained. And now that song’s stuck in my head, and Bram, I don’t know if you know the lyrics to that one, but it’s like . . . too freaking relevant. So now I feel like crying again, but I don’t want to do that in front of a bunch of random straight dudes. Maybe I’m not cut out for this whole roommate thing. Like, I want to know who thought it was a good idea to stick a random guy in my room and have him live there.
But mark my words, Greenfeld: We’re going to be Kellan-free for fall break. I will make it my life’s fucking mission.
Twelve more days. God, I miss you. And I love you. I’m, like, preposterously in love with you.
Love,
Simon
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: SEP 30 AT 11:21 PM
SUBJECT: RE: A QUESTION
I’ve got to say, that’s the weirdest fucking question you’ve ever asked me (AND I LOVE IT). So let’s make sure I’m following this. You want your roommate to leave early for fall break. And for that to happen, you need me (me!) to come up with a list of, and I quote, “clown-centered DC attractions”? WELL THEN.
First of all, Simon, are we sure clown-centered is a thing? Because it looks like we just found a hot new contender for Most Cursed Adjective (you had a good run, moist). Seriously, though, what does that even mean? Clown-centered? Is that a metaphor? Are we talking about GOP senators, or do you mean literal, actual clowns? And if so, WTF?? Do you just really hate your roommate? I have SO MANY QUESTIONS.
But yeah! Happy to see if Molly and Cassie have heard of anything . . . clown-centered. They’re at University of Maryland now, though, which is outside the city. Is that okay, or do you need it to be in DC proper? (Seriously, I am DYING to know what your roommate did to deserve this.) Anyway, texting M and C in a sec, and I’ll report back!
So, other than scheming against your roommate, what on earth are you up to? And how was New York? Leah and I actually heard from Nick this morning, by the way. Can you believe it?? He wanted to know if we’re coming home this weekend (we are, for what it’s worth, in case you were maaaaaybe considering coming down early?).
Anyway, Nick said he talked to Bram, and he got the impression that you two are kind of struggling with the long-distance stuff, I guess? I don’t want to overstep or anything, but I did want to make sure you’re okay. You always seem so cheerful with me, and that’s great, seriously. But I hope you know I’m here if you ever want to talk through the hard stuff. And same with Leah. We both love you so much, Si.