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From: Ginger Davies
To: Rhys Baker
Subject: My part of the deal
Okay, it was a gray morning—it always is—and I had been in the office with Dad (I’m trying to make this read like a novel so it will be more intense). I felt weird there, thinking about how I’d be there next year, watching the hands of the clock move on the wall. I don’t know. It was probably a little bit of everything, now that I think about it. Plus my period had just started. I don’t know if you care, but I’m including that because I think it’s a good explanation for why I was so sensitive. It got worse when I got home and I saw Dean’s parents were already there. I never told you this, I don’t think, but they’re great. We hugged, blahblahblah , and we sat and ate at the table together. My sister showed up a little later. All of a sudden, I looked at him and I felt…something. Grief. I remembered everything we’d been through together, afternoons playing, all these moments from when we were growing up…
Don’t you think it’s sad how sometimes you lose touch with a person who at one time meant everything to you? It’s weird. I know they say life takes turns, people come and go, and whatever, but maybe we shouldn’t pretend that’s just normal. It scares me to think human beings can up and change like that.
Anyway, my eyes started stinging (I’m not the type to just cry like that; usually it’s gradual, I try to avoid it, but eventually it overwhelms me), and I got up and went to the bathroom. He came not long afterward and asked if we could talk. We wound up in my room sitting on the bed. It’s weird to think how things change sometimes, you know? That was the same place where he kissed me one afternoon five years before, when we were doing our science homework. And now we were there talking about our breakup. It’s crazy. Ironic. How little you can predict things.
I guess I understood him. And I forgave him. Especially because I realized what hurt wasn’t so much losing him as a boyfriend, but just giving up all those years of friendship and the trust we had. That hit me, seeing him there, at home. I remembered all the important things Dean had walked all over just because he didn’t have the courage to give me the explanations I needed, you know?
But it was strange… I didn’t feel sad…
I even thought how, if things hadn’t happened in exactly the way they did, you and I would never have met. Fate is funny like that. I mean, imagine if Dean had wanted to talk to me, and it had dragged on for two or three hours. I’d never have caught that plane. I’d never have felt so lost, because at least I’d have had the answers I didn’t get at the time. You wouldn’t have seen me struggling with the ticket machine. Even if a traffic light had turned red and I’d gone down to the station a minute later, we wouldn’t have seen each other. Don’t you realize how fragile it all is? The thread is so thin, it’s almost scary to touch it.
So to sum things up: it was better than I expected. I blew off some steam, he explained himself, he told me I seemed different (I liked that), I realized bad things sometimes bring good things with them, and before I left home, after packing everything in my suitcase, I took down basically all the photos of Dean that were still up on the corkboard in my room. Don’t ask me why I left them there all summer. All I know is that until I brought that stage to some kind of close, I wasn’t ready to stuff them into a box. I left just one, from the day we graduated from high school, because I still had good memories of that moment, and he was a part of it, after all.
We’ve decided we’ll have coffee one day. Who knows? I’m not saying I’ll do it tomorrow, but maybe a time will come when I’m in the mood for it.
I’ll bet you regret saying you wanted to know all the details. Well, too late, Rhys. And now you owe me a big, long email revealing your deepest, darkest secrets. Don’t be stingy with the deets.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: RE: My part of the deal
Right, I think I get what you mean about Dean. And honestly, when I thought he was an idiot who didn’t deserve you, I hadn’t considered that he was your friend. Or all the stuff you experienced with him. I know what you mean about people forgetting things quickly, but didn’t you ever think maybe that was a survival mechanism?
Because some things…just hurt too much.
PS: Don’t freak out. I’ll send you another email soon and keep up my side of the bargain. And I promise I’ll try to put it all out there, as much as I’m able to, even if I suck at it. You’re lucky—I can’t fall asleep tonight.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: Second try
Honestly, Ginger, I don’t know where to start. For half an hour, I’ve been looking at the computer screen, and I’ve started this email a million times, but then I keep erasing everything I write. I think that’s why I sent you the other one earlier, because I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to write this one. It’s morning here, so I guess you’re already at school. Ginger, Ginger. You know what I like most about you? How you let me see you from the word go, without asking for anything in exchange, without hiding. You made me want to do the same, to give you…something. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to talk about myself. I’m not anyone special. I haven’t had a traumatic life. In theory I’m no different from you, but…look at us. Me writing and erasing and rewriting while you’re probably banging on the keyboard nonstop.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: A part of me
Okay, it all comes down to that time I told you that you’d hit the nail on the head. It’s true: I grew up in a big house in one of the nicest parts of the state. We had a maid and a gardener. I had a happy childhood. I adored my father. I adored my mother. We looked like the perfect family.
And yes, Ginger, I was captain of the football team, the guy who got invited to all the parties and went out with the hottest chick in class. And—right again—I was prom king. So what do you think? Impressed? I never pushed to make these things happen; they just did. I didn’t even try. I had everything a person could want in arm’s reach. For a long time. My life was idyllic.
From: Ginger Davies
To: Rhys Baker
Subject: RE: A part of me
Rhys, I don’t know what to say. I didn’t imagine… Honestly I was joking when I said all that stuff. I never thought a person like you…the person I met… I don’t know, I mean, I can’t even imagine you like that as a kid. Just forget it. Don’t tell me anything you don’t want me to know, my snail boy. I’ll be your friend no matter what.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: The other part of me
So the other side of the coin is that I had never felt emptier than I did at that time in my life. Or more alone. Is there any solitude that’s sadder, Ginger, than being surrounded by people but feeling like there’s no one there?
Remember what you told me that night in Paris about how you were scared you’d killed and buried the true Ginger? Honestly, you don’t have to kill the real you; you can just throw a muzzle on and forget yourself day after day. I feel like that’s what a lot of us do. We convince ourselves we want to be a certain way that doesn’t come naturally from within us, and we don’t even really like it. It doesn’t fulfill us; it doesn’t move us. But we force it. And we keep trying. And the years pass. And you start doing this thing and that thing, and you convince yourself that you can be happy since everyone else is (or looks like they are). But you know what? It’s not true. And one day, I realized that.
I realized I just had one life, and I didn’t want to throw it in the trash.
I realized the time had come to change things.
And here we are, Ginger, talking about what life means…
From: Ginger Davies
To: Rhys Baker
Subject: RE: The other part of me
For the first time ever, you’ve made an effort to really open up. You’re doing great. For real. See? Nothing bad happened; the world’s still going on its merry way. I’m proud I can inspire you to open up and be more expressive. I admit I didn’t expect what you told me about your past, and it surprised me, but… I like it, Rhys. I think you’re the most contradictory, unpredictable person I know. I wonder if that should scare me.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: RE: RE: The other part of me
Why should it scare you, Ginger?
From: Ginger Davies
To: Rhys Baker
Subject: Reasons
My sister says you’re interesting. Not just that, but “addictive.” Like one of those series where the writers manage to make you always want to watch the next episode. Why? Because things happen that you can’t predict. Surprises. And you want to know more. People don’t get hooked on something if they know how it ends. At least, not as intensely.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: RE: Reasons
You’re losing me, Ginger Snap.
But I like that thing about me being addictive.
From: Ginger Davies
To: Rhys Baker
Subject: Relax
Don’t let it go to your head. What I mean is, what would happen if you suddenly got tired of me and stopped writing? It’d be like not knowing the ending.
From: Rhys Baker
To: Ginger Davies
Subject: RE: Relax
I’ll never get tired of you.
From: Ginger Davies
To: Rhys Baker
Subject: RE: RE: Relax
I see you’ve run out of words to tell me about your past. Get some rest. Your fingers must be rubbed raw. (I’m being sarcastic, in case you can’t tell.)
PS: I’ll never get tired of you either.