26
The Damn Letters
~Noah~
Back at my sorry excuse for an apartment, I charge inside, slamming the door shut, already making my way to my bedroom where I keep the box of letters at the back of my closet, out of sight. Grabbing the first stack, I rip off the rubber band, snapping it in half in my haste.
My hands are shaking and my breaths are rushed as I reach for the first letter and tear it open. The salutation alone makes me nauseous. God, I knew this would suck.
January 30, 2011
Coward,
I hate you, you cowardly bastard. I hate that, when I need you the most, you’re not here. All those dreams, all those promises, and you left, damn you! What am I supposed to do now?
Why did you leave? If you never speak to me again, at least have the decency to answer me that.
We’re having a baby, Noah. A baby! Is that why you left? Did you overhear me talking about it and freak out? It’s okay to freak out; I did, too. Trust me; I wanted to run away, too, but I can’t run from my own body. And I thought you would be here to tell me it will all be okay, to be that pillar of strength you always were to me. And I thought I would be yours.
Please, Noah, please come back. I promise we will fight and scream, and you can punch as many holes into walls as you want, but please be here with me. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t think I can do this alone.
Stop running and be here, damn you!
Pissed off, hormonal, mother-to-be.
An ugly knot forms in my throat. Her begging, her news, the lost and hopeless feelings permeating from her first few angry letters make me hate myself so much more than I thought possible.
Then there’s Jonathan’s letter, addressing me as son, telling me there is nothing in life worth running away from. He is never mean or judging, just quoting the facts of life and conquering fears. Those letters stab another knife through my chest.
February 14, 2011
I have not passed the angry stage, but I thought, as today is Valentine’s Day, I should write today in remembrance of happy times. […]
How could you leave me the day I found out we were having our baby? It should have been a happy day. Instead, you tarnished it. I was scared, Noah, damn you. I will have no regrets, though. You can have them all. I will not regret what fate has given me. It might be hard to deal with, but I will make the best of our circumstances.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know I will stop at nothing to show our child that they are loved and provide everything they could ever want.
February 28, 2011
Chicken shit,
I’m being kicked out of school. Well, kind of. Earlier today, I had a meeting with my counselor, where she “strongly recommend I take a break due to my condition.” A condition YOU helped with, you selfish, heartless, scared, immature brat! I was planning on it, anyway. I lost my voice. I have no concentration. Therefore, I have until the end of the semester, and then I will be home. Not the place I want to be, especially under these circumstances.
Like I said earlier, your parents are supportive. Your mom is retiring early and opened their home to me. But I can’t do that. I can’t be anywhere where there are reminds of you. See, still in the angry stage. And I am depressed … all the time. This baby is going to be the saddest kid alive.
Baby news. You are having a son. If this is why you left, which is the only reason I can think of, then I hope he becomes more real to you now. And, one day, I hope you can love him as I already do.
I will never tell him why you left us. You will always be a fond memory. And he will never know otherwise that he isn’t loved by us. Do you hear me, Noah! He will never know otherwise!
If you someday decide you want to accept your responsibility, the door is always open to you. I will NEVER keep your son from you.
Ides of March, 2011
Your son is six months into gestation today. So, happy minor birthday to him. The doctor tells me he is very healthy and is going to be a big baby.
Since today is such a mile marker, I decided to name him. Nicholas Julian Gish-Sawyer. There, that is the first time I have written his name or even said it. I wanted you to be the first to know. I will give this letter a week to hopefully reach you before I tell anyone else.
I got lots and lots of ultrasound pictures of our precious Nicholas. I have enclosed today’s for you and had the doctor mark his legs, feet, hands, head, and sex for you. Isn’t he beautiful already?
I hope he looks exactly like you. He already has your height. ;)
Until next time, Noah.
Staring down at the first image of my son opens the floodgates. Tears silently stream down my face, blurring the black and white image of my boy. I can’t believe the sight, the thought that this tiny, precious creature came from our union. Long legs curled up, arms down to his side, I can see his heart, his spine, his unproportioned head.
How is it even possible? Claire was on birth control. I know she would never in a million years plan this. She was always so set on her goals. We talked about kids once, both agreeing that kids were something we wouldn’t think about until we were pushing thirty. Honestly, I would have been happier much sooner than that. I wanted to seal her to me in every way possible. Regardless, we were young and it was Claire—I went with whatever she wanted.
Wiping my face dry, I move on to the other letters.
May 1, 2011
Happy birthday, Noah!
Enclosed is a picture of Claire with “Happy birthday, Daddy” written on her belly. Dare’s hand is in corner of the picture, flipping me off. A laugh-sob leaves me at that. I can’t believe her belly. She looks so stunning.
May 19, 2011
School is over. I don’t know how I got through this year—the hardest year of my life. As sad as I am to leave, I am happier to go. Too many memories in the apartment, at local places we used to visit, the people who stop by less frequently now. Not that going home is going to be much better.
I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath at that thought.
I won’t be there long, though. And soon I will have new memories to make there, and the baby will know where we fell in love, where I grew up. And Katy and Abby are so excited. I’m glad they will be there. I miss them so much.
[…]
Two more months of this pregnancy left, and wow, am I huge. I feel like an elephant. My feet and ankles are swollen, my fingers are swollen, and my belly is most definitely swollen. See enclosed picture, and there will be no way you can deny that.
I look at the picture she is referring to, but I can’t agree with her. She looks perfect in the side view, wearing a dress, her belly protruding out, smiling at the camera. I hate that I missed this. This is about the time I woke up and realized how much of an asshole I am.
God, Claire … I’m sorry.
[…]
I am still mad at you and confused, but my promise is set in stone. Whenever you are ready to meet your son, he will be waiting for you.
I must end this now. Dad came back.
Claire
P.S. Oh, and Angel says a hi meow. She’s sprawled out on the table now, smacking the pen around whenever it comes near her.
The image she paints makes me smile a bit. I forgot about that cat. I wonder if she still has her.
June 4, 2011
I am going out of my mind at home. I can’t wait for this baby to come so I can have my body back. I feel like I have been invaded. I guess I kind of have.
The baby is kicking so much now; there is no room for him. Plus, I’m eating like crazy. I am huge, though my doctor and Katy say I still haven’t gained enough. I don’t understand how when I can’t even see my feet.
Troy called the other day. You might remember him, because a feeling tells me he is why you ran. It’s just a feeling, but I’m trusting it. I don’t know what you thought you saw, or if it’s what you heard, but it gave you no right to run. That’s not even you. Well, not the you I thought I knew. I’m not getting into that right now. I’m too close to the end of this pregnancy to risk the baby by getting angry. My blood pressure is already too high as it is.
Anyway, Troy called, saying Chelsea wants to talk to me. I must say that I was rendered speechless at that. Last time I talked to Chelsea, she yelled at me, hit me, cried. That’s the picture of her that has stayed in my head. I told Troy that I would visit, though. Who knows, maybe she saw you or something and wants to pass a message? I don’t know. I do want to see their baby.
Troy has grown up a lot; has his anger under control. He is in a much, much better place now. He was overseas for the past six months. After training, he had one month to get settled at his new command before they shipped him off. Poor guy. I can’t imagine going that long without seeing your baby.
After our baby is born, and after a few months of getting into a routine with him, I will be flying out to visit Troy, Chelsea, and Tori. I’m torn between excitement and nervousness about that. I hope Chelsea isn’t setting a trap. I’m positive Troy won’t let her. Keep your fingers crossed.
News of Troy doesn’t simmer my blood like it used to. And once I read through more letters about him, I find that I am genuinely happy that he is happy. I learn that him and Chelsea got married, which shocks the hell out of me, but good for them. They have another kid together, too. And Chelsea reads like someone I have never met before, not the mean, callous bitch I knew back in high school.
July 12, 2011
I wish you were here right now. I am so scared. My dad rushed me to the hospital because I was cramping so badly. It hurt. Oh, my God, did it hurt. And Dad … My poor dad. He shouldn’t have to go through this.
I stop reading right away. The dagger in my chest is twisting, making me close my eyes to blot out the pain.
God, Claire. I wish I had been there, angel.
I’m in the hospital now, getting testing done. They want me to stay overnight for now until they can get more tests done. I’m contracting every ten to twelve minutes right now. If the baby comes, he will only be a few weeks early so that’s a relief.
I’m scared, anxious, want to puke with nerves, but so excited and relieved to be near the end. I can’t wait to meet him.
Okay, the doctor came back in and told me I can go home in the morning. The baby is okay. His vitals are strong and normal. Thank God. The doctor thinks I am just having strong Braxton Hicks contractions. I shake my head at that. That must mean I am weak, unable to handle a little pain.
I know I am weak, because I don’t want to do this without you. I hate, hate, hate making all these baby decisions and not having your input. I see a cute outfit and know you will hate it. I stop and think, “I should buy it because of that.” Then I think, “But maybe I’m wrong, and he would love it.” I mean, I thought you would never leave, but you did. I’m being bitter again, I know. I hate this, Noah. I hate you.
Anyway, Nicholas’s bedroom is all set up next to mine. Katy and Abby helped me purchase everything he will need, and Dad set everything up. He had a terrible time building the crib, but he did it with a smile on his face. I love my daddy. He can’t wait for his grandbaby.
I can’t think of anything else to say for now, so … until next time.
That was supposed to be my job. That’s all I can think about. All of it—everything. I was supposed to be there.
Gritting my teeth, I continue reading through a lot of hate mail from Cyn and Dare. They never mention the baby, just how much of an asshole I am. In fact, one letter from Dare says just that: Asshole, in letters cut out of magazines like a ransom note. That girl had too much time on her hands and too much hatred in her heart.
July 26, 2011
Here it is, Noah. The day of your son’s birth. I am lying in the hospital bed right now, contractions two minutes apart. Within a couple of hours, your son will be coming into the world.
I wish you were here, dammit. I’m so scared. I NEED you, Noah. I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to do this alone. I need you. Nicholas needs you. I want our son to know his daddy.
Claire
P.S. This is Cyn. I will castrate you when I find you!
There are tearstains all over that note, and the next one right underneath it.
I add my own to the mix.
To the new daddy,
Today is the most significant day of my life. Your son is here. I can’t stop crying right now. Sorry for all the watermarks on this page. I’m so tired, and happy, and so incredibly sad you are missing this. That you aren’t here to meet your son. That you will miss so much of … everything.
God, Noah, he looks JUST like you. His hair is so black and so full, though everyone tells me his color could change. His eyes are still the newborn bluish-gray, but his natural color will become more prominent in the next few months. He has the longest legs. It’s so funny. He’s going to be tall like his daddy. Thank God. Poor kid doesn’t need my little height. His nose is a little squished, but it’s adorable. His ears are so little. They are definitely your ears. I don’t know, there is something about him that screams Noah.
I have a lifetime of photos for you. Seriously, I need to put them on a drive because there are so many. Everyone was snapping away. I felt like the paparazzi was attacking me.
I pick up the sim card that is in the envelope and leave the closet to find my laptop. Then I spend the next hour pouring over every picture, unable to stop examining every nuance, every expression my son makes: from his screaming, angry face to the look of wonderment when he meets his mom for the first time. I can’t pull my eyes away.
They are both so beautiful. Claire, even sweating, tears streaming down her red face, not a speck of makeup on, her hair clinging to her profile, she is more lovely than I ever saw her.
I see her in a different light. She’s a mom. She’s a single mom, who moved to another country with a newborn, worked her ass off to fulfill her dreams, all the while taking care of this little creature. I am in awe of her, and my heart expands at the level of adoration I have for both them, for the son I have never met.
Then I come across a video at the end, and my eyes become a broken dam. I watch the video three times because I miss so much the first two. Claire giving birth.
I wish there was more shown than there is. I wish I could see my son making his first appearance, but the first I see of him is when the doctor holds him up, bloody and naked, the umbilical cord still attached. I watch as Cyn cuts it, smiling as she cries and laughs at the same time, telling Claire how proud she is of her, how handsome our baby is.
Then the camera is back on Claire, and I watch as my own mother wipes her face, telling Claire how well she did, crying herself. It’s so weird to see my mom like that: comforting, proud, so happy and loving and supportive. It makes me miss her. I want to thank her for being there.
A nurse moves into the frame, and Dare coos from behind the camera, getting Claire’s attention. She smiles at the camera, or Dare, and then all her attention goes right to the baby in the nurse’s arms. She tries to scoot up in the bed, but a doctor out of view tells her not to move as the nurse places baby Nicholas into her arms.
Claire starts to sob as she looks at him, which makes me sob and smile simultaneously. This is the part I still can’t make it through, when Nicholas quiets down as soon as he catches sight of his mother for the first time. It’s a beautiful moment as Nicholas simply watches her as she coos at him, telling him how much she loves him, how perfect he is.
I soak in everything about them, not seeing anything else. And when I finish watching the video, I finally return to the closet and the letters, bringing my laptop with me.
He’s perfect, Noah. I wish you were here to see him. I imagine you carrying him around the room, already teaching him music and promising to teach him how to play the guitar one day …
Oh, so stats. Okay, he was born twenty-three and a half inches tall, weighing eight pounds four ounces. You probably aren’t aware of this, but that’s a big baby. It’s a miracle considering he came out of me. Which, the labor was pretty easy.
I went in for my weekly exam, and the doctor said I was already four centimeters dilated. Her words: “You’re going to have a baby today.” And sure enough, Nicholas Julian Gish-Sawyer was born five hours later.
Honestly, the doctor said that was the easiest labor she ever had the pleasure of being a part of. As soon as my body was ready, I pushed twice, and he was out, screaming bloody murder, too.
I cried, and cried, and cried. Dad cried. Katy cried. Cyn cried. Even Dare.
He is so beautiful, Noah. He is lying in his hospital bassinet right now, his hand in his mouth, sucking away.
I got distracted watching him for a while.
So, yeah, Katy, your mom, Dare, and Cyn stayed in the room with me during the delivery. Dad, Anthony, Mark, Max, Kyle, and Abby waited in the hall. Dare videotaped most of it, so I’m attaching that in this letter. I told her not to film the gross stuff. I don’t want to see it, so I don’t want you to see it. Serves you right if you did, though.
Cyn and Max are going to be Nicholas’s godparents. Kyle is claiming the uncle role, which means Abby is the unofficial aunt. And this kid has more grandparents than I ever thought a child of mine would since Katy and Mark are declaring themselves a part of that role.
I’m sorry. I’m crying again, feeling all the love these people are giving us. I’m so happy, yet I miss you so much right now. You should be HERE, dammit, with me, with Nicholas.
I can’t write anymore right now. It’s too hard.
New mommy.
August 7, 2011
This first few days at home from the hospital were fantastic. Now, not so much. Nicholas has the appetite of a bear. Your mom tells me you were the same way. I find comfort in that.
He wakes up every two hours to be fed. Then he falls asleep in my arms. Your mom told me not to feed him in my bed because he will become accustomed to it and it will be hard to break him from it later. But I am so tired, trying to sleep when he does, and he feels so good in my arms. I can’t help cuddling him. We both seem to sleep better that way.
With the aftermath of the pregnancy, depression has set in again. Just being with Nico (oh, that’s what Signora Gelardi has nicknamed him and it kind of stuck) and thinking about all his firsts and that you won’t be here to share that breaks my heart. I get so damn angry and frustrated when I am so tired and want to skip one feeding, have someone else take care of him for once. Those moments, I hate you and think it would be better if I knew you were dead instead of abandoning us for your own selfish reasons. That’s what I end up telling myself. That you are dead. And these letters are just a way to connect with you, to feel like you are still here.
I’m getting off topic.
Your mom and dad left today. Your mom is wrapping up her release for retirement and mentioned every hour, it seemed, how she would love to have us stay with them. It brings tears to my eyes how much she cares. You should see her look at Nico. There is an ocean of regret in her eyes. I think she misses having you as her little boy and now realizes how much she missed out on.
I don’t know what I am going to do next. I’m focusing on being a new mommy for now. Signora Gelardi has a few ideas, but I told her to wait until Nico is four months old before she starts pestering me about them.
I hope you’re safe, but I can’t hope you’re happy. Knowing you are happy somewhere without us would feel like a betrayal to our son.
August 20, 2011
This is the first time I’ve had the chance to write to you in weeks.
Max passed away. I’m sorry if this is how you are finding out. He was out for a ride and just … his heart gave out. It was a genetic disease, something he kept from everyone, including Cyn, who is beyond herself with guilt.
I don’t know what to do for her. She is keeping to herself, locking herself in their room day and night. She came out only for the funeral, which was a closed casket due to the severity of his injuries, having crashed his bike when the heart attack hit him. It was horrible, Noah. So horrible.
Max was one of the bestest friends I could ask for. He was like a big brother, you know? He always looked out for me, for you, for everyone. I will miss him so, so much.
I hope you are safe. Now I fear every moment that could have been you on your bike.
Something no one seems to know, and I don’t plan on telling anyone, is that Max did find me. I don’t know why he lied and said he didn’t. Well, yes, I do.
I was a mess when he showed up in my motel room. It was about a month after I started sobering up, hating myself for leaving, feeling too much at once. All the nastiness I had filled myself with were still leaving my body. My thoughts were not always my own. I was still in the stage of wanting to go home, yet too scared that people would see through me.
Seeing myself through Max’s eyes scared the shit out of me. In his expression, I saw all the ugliness I had allowed into my life. I saw everyone’s disappointment, and that was when I decided I couldn’t go home. So, I lashed out.
I told Max about all the shit I had done, who I had done. I told him lies to send him off, not wanting to see his pity, his concern. I told him I hated him, hated my family, hated Claire. I lied and lied, throwing shit, hurting myself, being the worst version of myself so he would leave, so I wouldn’t have to see that disappointment.
That’s why Max lied and said he didn’t find me. That’s why I will live with the regret that the last thing I ever said to him was that I hated him. That’s why I lashed out at Kyle when I first heard about Max’s death. That’s why I don’t know if I could ever face Cyn again. That’s why it took me so long to come back.
September 1, 2011
I don’t have much to say this time. I’m basically writing this to send you some things that speak better than my words do.
Missing you,
Inside is another sim card. Every letter since Nico’s birthday has one or two pictures in it, but this one has a whole a lot more. I plug it into my laptop and scroll through them all, seeing Nico held by everyone, seeing Nico lying in a bouncy chair, seeing him sleeping. She has a lot of pictures of him sleeping. There are some professional photos of the two of them, and some of just him. A month later and he still has a head full of dark hair, and his eyes are changing colors, looking muddier now.
September 26, 2011
Asshole,
Yes, I’m back to being angry! Our son is two months old today, and instead of getting easier, it gets harder and harder. And you’re not here to help, damn you! You are going to miss his first crawl, step, teething, potty training—everything! And I HATE you for it! I will NEVER, EVER forgive you for being so selfish!
I hope you regret never knowing what it feels like to have your son depend on you, to have him hold on so tightly to your finger, snuggling up to your warmth, looking for your protection and security. I hope you regret not knowing how it feels when he studies your face as intently as you study his, memorizing everything.
Damn you, Noah!
I don’t think I have it in me to ever forgive you. That’s how tired and angry and sad I feel today.
Regardless, he is YOUR son … I can’t talk about it anymore right now.
Nico and I are going to visit Troy, Chelsea, and their baby, Tori. Then I will be leaving the States with Nico. At this moment, I need to get as far away from you as possible. Two more months, and I will be far, far away from every reminder of you. Well, except for our son … and your guitar. I’m taking that with us for Nico. He needs a part of his daddy by him.
Melancholy Mommy
That letter makes me cringe, and guilt festers inside of me.
November 9, 2011
If and when you ever get these letters, me and Nico are in Pisa, Italy now. We are living with your most favorite person in the world, Signora Gelardi.
December 25, 2011
Merry Christmas, Noah.
I wanted to send you these pictures I took of Nico today. For only being five months old, he has a handle on this Christmas tradition. Of course, he thinks the papers and boxes are more exciting than the gifts themselves.
I stop reading to flip through the pictures, smiling as I see my boy sitting up on his own, fists full of paper in his hands, not even interested in the toys surrounding him. Gelardi is the in the background, sitting in an old-fashioned rocking chair, looking at Nico with a small smile on her face. Jonathan and, surprisingly, Kyle are there, too, laughing at something in the one picture they are in, standing in the background behind Claire, who is holding a squirming Nico in her arms.
Dad flew in for Christmas and brought me a surprise—Kyle! It was so good to see him. He’s doing well in school. Still no girlfriend, but he and Signora Gelardi’s granddaughter were eyeing each other over dinner tonight, much to Signora Gelardi’s disappointment. It was funny to watch all the tension at the table.
And I had a date tonight.
I almost stop reading right there, already knowing where this is going.
I hate to admit that it’s the first one since you left, but it is what it is. I want to say it’s because I’ve been too busy, but I could never lie to you. And maybe I’m hoping by telling you that you will rush in like a knight in shining armor and rescue me, and we can live happily ever after. But fairy tales aren’t real.
His name is Jesse. He’s British, which I can’t help loving his accent. And he works with me. The date went well, just a walk along the river and stopping to hear the Christmas bells from the churches. I loved that part. Really magical. Neither of us have made company yet, so we weren’t needed at work tonight. I kind of like not having responsibilities like that.
You should be happy to hear that while the date went well, and he did kiss me at the end of it, I couldn’t help hurrying to my room to write to you …
I rip the letter to smithereens, frustration and anger at myself welling up.
January 1, 2012
Happy new year, Noah
Enclosed is a picture of Nico with a party hat on, staring up at the fireworks in awe. The kid is so handsome. His eyes are brown now. He looks just like me, which makes me realize the pictures Katy had on her refrigerator weren’t my baby pics; they were Nico’s. The truth was staring me right in the face the entire time, and I was too stupid to see it.
March 14, 2012
When are you going to show up? When are you going to put us out of our misery and let us know if you are alive or dead? I am so conflicted right now and could use my best friend: you. Despite everything, you are still my best friend. I will always, always love you. You are the father of our child, how can I not?
It’s more than that …
I slept with Jesse last night. And now I feel so damn guilty, and I have no reason to be. No. Reason! You left me. You are probably sleeping with hundreds of women and not me. So why do I feel like I am cheating on you? Why can I not feel any of the passion I felt with you with him? What makes you so damn special!
Nothing. I’m not special at all. I am a broken, messed up person who leaves the woman they love pregnant and alone, without a word, for over four years.
I’m sorry, Claire.
I walk away for a while after reading that letter and turn back to the pictures of Nico. It puts me in a better mood before I can return to the letters, reading some from my family and used-to-be friends before going back to hers.
March 22, 2012
I am sorry for my last letter. It was uncalled for, and I shouldn’t have even sent it, but I made a promise to myself that I would send everything to you: the good, the bad, the despicable. That last letter was the latter.
Today, I write about happy times.
Nico started walking! Signora Gelardi videotaped it since I was at work when it happened. I cried when I found out. She called me right away, and I ran home to see him. Literally.
I enclosed too many pictures for you, but this is such a huge milestone, and I wanted you to have as many pieces of it as you can, however you can.
My throat lumps up again at thinking this is something we share: missing his first steps. The video isn’t attached, but I do go through the pictures, sharing in the joy of the milestone. I am so damn proud of the little guy who looks proud of himself; a big, toothy smile on his face.
April 13, 2012
Enclosed is a CD of videos of all Nico’s firsts up until now. Also, he’s been saying Dada since yesterday, which is on here. I thought that marked the perfect time to consolidate all the videos and send them to you.
Happy early birthday.
I rush to get the card in my laptop, making sure to save the previous card’s pictures and videos on my hard drive. Then I spend an unknown amount of time watching video after video, replaying some of them.
The sun is coming up by now, but I’m not tired in the least.
May 1, 2012
Happy 21st Birthday, Noah!
How does it feel to be able to drink legally? Not that you were ever much of a drinker before, but who knows now? Times change, right? People change. Like me. I love wine now. How can you live in Italy and not appreciate it?
I wish you all the happiness in the world for your birthday. Be safe.
Loves,
Enclosed are more pictures of Nico and Claire, obviously taken by someone else with them at the opera house. Claire carries him around, pointing at different things. I can imagine her explaining everything to him. And he looks like he is holding on to every word, either staring intently at what she is pointing at or watching her as she talks to him.
June 11, 2012
Some updates, since it’s been over a month since I last wrote to you. Sorry about that. I’m enclosing lots of more pictures to make up for it. It’s down season, so Signora Gelardi took us around Italy for some sightseeing, as you can see from the pictures.
Nico continues to grow and grow. I can’t believe he’s already almost a year old. Another year you have missed. He’s running around everywhere now and baby gates are a thing of the past since he is climbing over them. Scares me to death! Your mom tells me this is a trait I have you to thank for.
She and your dad were here for a couple of weeks. They got us into parts of the Coliseum that are blocked off from tourist. Jesse bought Nico a wooden sword and plastic shield in remembrance of that memory. He didn’t care for the shield, but he loves his wooden sword and uses it to strike out at everyone when he has a tantrum …
I laugh at that, hoping he hit Jesse where it counts.
… so Mummy (as he calls me; picked up from Jesse’s accent, no doubt) had to put it away and replace it with a foam one, which he is NOT happy about. Oh well. Bad mummy.
And our baby is bilingual. I try to speak as much English as I can, but with as much Italian as he is around, he picks up more of that.
I have three more weeks before auditions for this season starts. Signora Gelardi was kind enough to give me a break. Actually, I don’t think it was out of kindness. I think she is sick, but the stubborn woman won’t admit it.
Jesse is doing well. It feels so weird to write that. However, you should know since he’s around your son so much. We’ve been together for six months now. He’s a wonderful man. Kind, caring, gentle, smart. I can’t help comparing him to you, though. He doesn’t get me the way you do. He doesn’t hold me the same. I blame that on me more than him.
You see, I’m not the same as I once was. I used to cry in front of others; not anymore. I used to be able to tell you all my secrets; now I hold everything inside. I can’t give that piece of myself away anymore. I used to love with reckless abandon; now I fear giving away so much. I used to laugh until I had tears running down my face, dance naked in the snow, trust; now those childhood fancies are gone. Now I look at everything critically, weighing the pros and cons before taking a step. I have learned that’s how it is to be an adult.
Hugs and kisses from your son. (I show him your picture, and he kisses it goodnight every night, saying “nigh nigh, Dada.”)
Once again, I am walking away. I go into the kitchen and grab a beer, finishing it before taking a breath. I rest my head against the refrigerator door and take more deep breaths.
It hurts. This really, really hurts.
Claire has been such a great mom. Anyone can see that from the pictures alone. The fact that Nico knows about me … I can’t even put into words how that makes me feel. It’s painful, but a wonderful pain, if that makes any sense.
Tossing my empty beer bottle in the trash, I then pour myself a glass of water and head back to the closet, noting that it’s now past seven in the morning.
July 26, 2012
I hate you. Dramatic, I know. But I do. I really, really do.
I was sitting here, drinking by myself after I put Nico to bed on his first birthday, and I started to cry at the loss of you. Not my loss. Oh, no. I’m over that. Yep, way over it. No, I’m talking about Nico’s loss.
He called Jesse daddy today! Jesse! Jesse is NOT his daddy. You are, dammit! Wherever the hell you are, you need to get here and BE the daddy! Get over yourself and take responsibility!
Well, that has been the hardest thing I have read so far.
I sit back and stare at the wall in front of me, trying to clear my mind of that letter. I thought the worse thing I would read is her telling me she hates me, which I have read plenty of, but reading that is so much worse. I want to beat Jesse’s face in, snatch up my kid, and … I don’t know what.
Taking another break from Claire’s letters, I read some of my family’s. Mom and Dad write about things they are doing. Katy writes about life with her, Mark, and Abby, and how things are going with Kyle. I guess he got serious with that Giuliana around this time, getting his associate degree before enrolling in EMT certifications. Mark and Katy were a bit disappointed at first, but then they warmed up to it after hearing Kyle gush about his job.
He writes to me about moving to Italy for a while, about Giuliana and what he thinks about her. It’s weird reading this side of Kyle. He was such a goof-off when last I knew him. Now he’s this serious, life-saving, in love guy I don’t even know anymore. Another stab to the heart.
After I read a year’s worth of letters from my family, I get the nerve to go back to Claire.
September 17, 2012
I’m sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. After my last letter, I kind of lost it. I wish you knew how hard it’s been raising a child and trying to keep up the appearance of their daddy who is never here. I never want our son to know his daddy walked out on us; do you hear me? I’m more convinced now than I was in the early days that you overheard my conversation to Troy and ran because of Nico. I won’t tolerate him ever thinking that. I would rather you were dead than have him know you left us like the scared shitless kid you obviously were. Still must be.
I didn’t like someone else being called daddy by Nico, and Jesse and I had a blowout over it. He doesn’t understand why it matters, and I can’t blame him. It might be neurotic, but I still have hope that Nico will have a relationship with you one day.
As my apology for thinking I could cut you out of our lives (hence the two months’ radio silence from me), I have enclosed this letter in a big package for you. In it you will find Nico’s binkie, his first outfit, a copy of his hand and footprints from the hospital, a copy of his birth certificate, which I did name you as his daddy, something I debated on for almost eight months. Also, there is an up-to-date video copy, and lots more pictures. You should be able to fill up album after album from all the pictures I have sent you. I know I have.
We are in the beginning of this year’s season, so unless something important happens, I won’t be able to write as much. I have a minor role now and am the understudy for the lead. Much excitement!
I look for the corresponding box she is referring to and go through it. Claire is right; the amount of pictures she sent takes over an hour to go through.
I save the best for last, holding Nico’s binkie, caressing his first outfit, study his hand and footprints, and then I read every word of his birth certificate, getting emotional all over again at seeing Claire and my name side by side, seeing Nico’s hyphenated last name and wondering what could have been if I had never left.
By this point, I’m hungry, but I have no appetite. I finally move out of the closet, though, and pack everything into the living room before making myself a sandwich and forcing myself to eat it. I feel exhausted, but I want to finish reading everything.
I replay all the videos, putting them on repeat so it runs through each video, and lie down on the couch. Around the time I’m watching Nico eat his first birthday cake, I fall into a dreamless sleep and wake up when the sun is setting.
The videos are now on Nico’s birth again. I let it continue to run as I get up and shower. I shave, get dressed, then head into the kitchen to find something to eat. Finding nothing, I order Chinese take-out then return to the letters.
October 2, 2012
Nico decided he wants to be a piano player when he grows up. Too soon? Yeah, maybe, but he sure does love banging away on that thing. Signora Gelardi is content to let him sit on her lap and pound away for hours. And let me tell you, that little guy is persistent. He gets this sound in his head and doesn’t seem to give up until he gets it the way he wants it. Then he looks up at you with such pride on his face and the biggest smile! Love it.
What I really want to tell you in this letter is that Jesse proposed, but I couldn’t go through with it. I love him, but I’m not in love with him.
I sigh and toss the letter down. I don’t want to read this shit. Then I think about how much I owe it to her. So, I suck it up and pick the damning letter back up. I know she doesn’t marry the guy.
[…]
How can I put on an engagement ring when I still wear the pendant you gave me? How can I marry one man when I have a baby with another, who might not even know it? I can’t. I simply cannot.
September 27, 2012. Remember that date as the day another man asked me to marry him. A man worthy, yet I’m not.
How can I be true to him when you are still in my heart? I mean, I carried your seed inside me, and we created beauty out of it. We created a miracle together. How do you move on from that?
I read some more letters from her and the others before the Chinese delivery guys shows up. Then I stop to eat, replaying Nico’s baby videos. I can’t get enough of the little guy. And seeing Claire like that, being able to watch her, it’s addicting.
There are videos where Nico says, “Hi, Daddy,” and I lose all appetite at that, feeling angst and love simultaneously. Another video is shot where Nico doesn’t know he is being observed, playing my guitar that sits on the floor in front of him. He plucks at the strings, humming some unknown song in his head. Another video shows him and Jesse at the zoo. The kid has awe all over his face as he feeds the farm animals or looks at wonder at the African animals, pointing and speaking gibberish in his excitement. I cringe at those, hating those wild animals.
July 25, 2013
Signora Gelardi passed away.
Well, damn, that sucks. I wasn’t her biggest fan, and she wasn’t mine, but I know how much she meant to Claire.
I know I mentioned it before, but she’s been sick for a long time now. She kept fading away, leaving the house less and less, leaving her chair less and less, yelling at everyone less and less. Giuliana found her. Thank God it wasn’t Nico, whose second birthday is tomorrow. He usually wakes up before me and crawls into her lap for morning cuddles. For once, maybe God’s intervention, he slept in the day she passed away. That was over a month ago. […]
I doubt Nico would remember something like that, but I know my own childhood scars and thank whoever was watching out for him that he didn’t find her like that.
December 15, 2013
Kyle is staying with us for the rest of the month. Him and Giuliana are pretty close now. I’ve accepted the fact that he doesn’t come here to see us anymore, just Giuliana. He’s staying with me this time, though. No more crashing at the Gelardi’s house. Giuliana is at my place most of the time, anyway, since she’s claimed the position as Nico’s nanny. That’s what she wants in life, so I pay her for it.
She brings him to the opera house to visit me during the day so I can see more of him. Everyone loves Nico. He’s such a great kid. I can’t even call him a baby anymore. Over two years old, and already he is a little man. Just thinking about it has me hoping once again that you are finally getting my letters and reading about what an amazing kid he is. I hope it sends you running to us. Nico knows you’re his daddy. He’s waiting for you.
We love you, Noah … still.
She hasn’t written that in a while. It warms my soul and gives me hope that after three years she still felt that way.
I read through more letters of the day-to-day activities, and then I get to one from right after I visited Katy.
September 29, 2014,
I’m hurt and angry again. You went to see Mark and Katy and not me? What did I do wrong? Is it the letters? No, of course not. You just got them. Ugh. I wish I knew!
Katy told me about the bracelet, Noah. If you hate me so much, why do you still wear it?
And the business card? What does it mean? I have half a mind to stalk you and make a scene. Dare would love that. She’s all for getting the pitch forks.
June 16, 2014
I googled your name and finally got a hit. Honestly, I’ve googled your name often for the past four years. It’s been a while now since last time I did. You start to lose hope after four years of nothing.
I heard a song on the radio that was a different rendition of one you used to play forever ago. I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. I called Chris right away (yeah, I still talk to him once a while), and he turned on the radio to listen. I don’t think I need to tell you how pissed off he was, especially because the band slowly dissolved in the first year you left.
Chris now co-owns his dad’s garage. He’s doing good. Practically gave up on music altogether, but you can still hear him playing the drums occasionally. I don’t know what happened to Trey and Shaun. When the band gave up, they all went their separate ways.
Anyway, I am so proud of you and hate you at the same time. I can’t believe you wrote a song for your favorite band. I still remember going to their concert with you, my first one. Well, my only one. I thought most of those bands wrote their own songs. Regardless, it’s still pretty cool. Congratulations, Noah.
And now the hating you part. I’m moving on, as much as I can since I still write to you like a total stalker. But there is still this ache where my heart is. And then I see you in a group picture with the band, smiling, shaking hands, recording together, and I hate that you can smile like that, like you can move on move on. Like you’re a selfish asshole when I know you’re not. At least, you used to not be.
Good luck to you, Noah.
After that letter, I can’t take anymore. It seems like too much of a good-bye.