June, 2028
Dear Asher:
Time is a figment of the imagination, because there’s no way it’s been six months since I last saw you.
I don’t know if it’s because I reread your letters over and over again to feel close to you or the fact that I stalk your social media to see what you’re up to.
I’m such a loser, aren’t I? Finding comfort in a man a bazillion miles away from me who jumps into ice cold waters for a living and who I’m definitely not dating.
I’ve loved all your little random facts; have I told you that before? I swear, I’m losing my mind lately. I can’t remember day from night or right from wrong. I’m so tired all the time, I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake somewhere, especially at work. So forgive me if I’ve said that before.
Update on me. I got one of those new phones with the hologram, and I feel very Zenon-like. I kind of wish cars flew by now, but I’ll take cool phones in their place.
Nicole, my baby sister who organizes the gala, is getting married, and I’m so excited for her.
She’s joining the rest of them in the married-before-thirty club.
And then, there’s me, the oldest, still childless and single.
I guess at this point, it’s comical. I should just cut my losses and find a different dream.
Thank you for the jokes. They’ve been great, especially on days when I’m struggling to find some joy.
I’ll share it with the kids at work—they’ll love it.
Some days, I laugh at myself over the fact that my closest friendship is with you, and I don’t even know your favorite song or why you love swimming so much.
I have a joke today. I farted at work.
Yup, you read that right.
I farted.
A big, loud fart.
Why? Well, there was a little nine year old crying over missing her sibling, who was in surgery, and I didn’t know what else to do. She laughed and then I laughed, and all was fine.
It was embarrassing, but it brought me life. Maybe that’s what we both need to do— fart more.
Xo,
Hales