Dearest Abigale. (Fiction) Part 1.
(Note – The story below is a fiction story. I am contemplating taking part in this years ’NaNoWriMo 50,000 word challenge’ and I am playing around with idea’s for the story. This is a big undertaking for me so any feedback is appreciated as to whether I should run with this, think of another storyline altogether or just not do it at all as I rarely write fiction at all never mind 2000 words of it per day!)
I am sorry that after our friendship ended I inadvertently hurt you. That was never my intention. If I had wanted to hurt you there were a lot other ways that I could have done it. That was not one of them. Type face in a place where a trillion, black letters against a white background go unseen each and every day. A place where other words I had whispered had rarely been acknowledged, touched upon, looked upon or remarked upon. A place that was forgotten by all but very few. A place that was not even in my own name. No that was not the place that I would have expected to hurt you.
All the things that were said back and forth amongst us afterwards was nothing more than retaliation on my part. That part of it. ‘The afterwards’ I have always accepted were said in my anger and I would have acknowledged that to you if other forces had not exploded, had the other war not began. It was difficult to dodge the grenades at that point.
The aftermath was in full force. Involvement into matters that had no place. Others fuelling the fire for nothing else but to ease boredom. Spewing words of bile like witches around a cooking pot. Somebody else to victimise and talk about, to belittle and tread upon without a thought, without a backward glance. The vine of scuttlebutt and excitement bursting into full bloom. Pushing its way down pathways and streets. Into letter boxes, out of windows, growing and growing, gaining momentum with every surge forward. Crushing minds within its stalks and sucking them dry. Another day of gossip and merriment to those closed minds. Nothing more. To us though, it signaled the end.
I lashed out and I retaliated. I am human, I have never claimed to be anything else. I don’t think anybody would sit back and take that level of abuse without fighting back. It was never an unwritten rule that only others can speak and say what they want to say, can hurt without reprisal of being hurt back.
You see, I was sick and tired of never fighting back. Weary of being what people expected me to be. Of living a life that didn’t feel like it belonged to me. Of listening with nothing to say, nothing to offer and nothing to give. You were my closest friend but even that was fading fast. Our lives were changing I guess and taking different paths. It is easy to move on when somebody has nothing to offer you and I don’t think at that point I had enough to offer to anybody, not even myself.
I think of this as one of my few regrets. Of all the things that life has thrown at me and of all the mistakes I have made, I think that is one of the few that I do regret and I have carried that with me all of these years without apologising for it. I do apologise for hurting you. The fact that it was unintentional is irrelevant to the fact that you were hurt.
I spent many years living in acceptance and in agreement with people so as not rock the boat. Not wanting to be disliked or even liked, just wanting to coast and not be conspicuous. To merge without having to shout. Always wanting to please and not really knowing how to. I was never really good at the spoken word and the easiest thing for me to do was surround myself with people who were better at being heard than I. That was part of my own undoing back then.
That changed, I changed. I moved on, lived my life, grew and forgot. Now life has dealt me the blow of having limited time yet has allowed me fleeting moments to reflect and to put right a few of the wrongs that I still can. At least if not to put them right to apologise for them. Before I go from this place. Know I am sorry, I am very sorry. I should have told you what I knew. You didn’t want to speak to me, poisoned by that point. Maybe if I had tried harder the truth would have been told.
I read the letter twice before I returned it to my sisters diary. It had been placed at the front where she had written her name in cursive handwriting.
I think I knew even then that somehow I needed to deliver this letter to whom ever it was intended if I could. Not today though, today I could not read anymore the pain was too raw. I sat at the end of her bed clutching the diary close to me having earlier escaped from the conversation, tears and occasional laughter from downstairs. Her wake. She was too young to have gone from this world.
In the sanctuary of her bedroom I could still smell her scent on her bed. I had wrapped myself in her quilt and hugged her pillow to me, pressing my face into the softness to engulf my sobs. That was when I felt it, in-between the pillow and the pillowcase. She had wanted me to find it.
The letter was dated the day before she passed away. She had gone knowing that she had not put something right and now I knew that I was on a journey to discover what and to find out who Abigail was. What I could never have known then was that as the pages unfolded they would take me on a journey. That journey would lead to secrets, lies and an unexplained death that pointed to the very person that I loved the most.