This Is Not a Love Letter

Disclaimer: the following is a letter to an old friend, a guy from the UK I haven’t spoken to in as many years, and I’ve lost touch with him, but note the title in the title bar of this entry. Yes, I’m interrupting my flow but something has to be written down.

 

Dear Ben,

Yes, I know. I haven’t written you at all in a while. It has been years since we talked, and honestly, the last time I heard your version of I Dreamed a Dream, I cried my eyes out. I hope you’re alive and quarantined like everybody else, and please, don’t try to kill yourself. Because there are a few good reasons not to. One, Mumford and Sons. I was listening to their song I Will Wait, and it dawned on me that you probably will listen to the same song too. Two, your buddy Aaron, whose nerdy knowledge and comic book candor can’t be beat. What is the world like without that knowledge? Aaron still has it stuck there in his head, and he and I have talked a while ago but I can’t remember. Ben, it has been forever and a day since we talked, and I have updates, and not a single one is bad, except for maybe one. I had to part with some people because of what they call ableism, and they recommend things they know nothing about. These people were uneducated about my situation, and I discharged whatever weirdness went on with that. The people who said all this are off my Facebook page now, and there could be more folks but still.

But here are all the good things: aside from having to move mine and my partner’s commitment ceremony to a time in October, bar the corona virus comes back, I have been with this man for four years. I love Trenton, and he loves me. I’m typing this letter to you on my mac, but thinking something might have happened to you in the air of cyberspace, but don’t want to believe this. Yes, 2017 was a bad year for the blind, and it entailed the loss of friends, including my dearest Kaitlyn Reichert, who died in Los Angeles with a smile on her face, knowing she’d be in the universal summerland with her deity. Another thing, because I’ve lost friends, I’ve set up an altar in my home so I can welcome the spirits to a special day aside from the commitment ceremony, just ask me. I’ll explain more to you privately, as I’ve written some things about my choices here in the blog, but don’t want to alarm anyone.

The thing is that … I’m glad we are on Mixer. I want you to know that Trenton and I could try to sneak up and kick your butt at something, we don’t know what, Killer Instinct, perhaps, but we’re getting an Xbox 1. Someday, if the money rolls in right. We want to enhance our home and make it livable, productive, and free as Americans go.

Ben, I miss your piano playing of Pompeii’s Bastille, or what is the band? Sorry, I got this all mixed up. Bastille is the band, and the song is Pompeii. I remember you playing and singing the chorus, and the key of A was perfect with your voice. Your vocal qualities remind me of Mumford and Sons but better in a way, not as gruff as the guy in Mumford. Okay, whatever.

If only you knew. I voted for the woman who ran for president in 2016, and the clown beat her. I won’t go into political stuff here because it’s too depressing. But then again, all the news is depressing anyway. What with this stupid virus and all that stupid social distancing and all that … hell, it’s the worst thing the world has ever gone through.

I want to let you know, Ben, that though I am all right, I kind of want to be friends again, and no, as the title bar says, I don’t want to say I love you. I don’t, not that what I used to anymore. I thought irrationally that the only way to shut my parents up was to marry a dude across the pond, shut them up and say, you’re going to miss me, and rightfully so, I would have said. Furthermore, I would have been all, “If you don’t allow this to occur, you’ll get a restraining order and I won’t let you see me, the man, and our future kids.” I revoked my father’s name from records anyway recently, and this is to keep Trenton’s and my kids safe. I’ve got this in the bag.

Ben, it has been years since we played a game together, and so much time has passed since I stepped back and took a good look at why I wanted you in the first place. You were and are a nice guy, and you do lots of great things with gaming and such, and please don’t try to block me on Mixer because I swear I need folks to follow on Mixer, and I want to follow good guys and gals like me who are blind and play games. I’ve recently done lots of things but things have gotten weirder with this virus on the loose all over the world. I hope you yourself didn’t test positive for the dreaded viral crap, and please stay healthy. Ben, I dreamt one night that I was carted through an empty grocery store, no food on any shelves, bare all around, no supplies. What madness! But then again, I’ve dreamt things of times gone by, not so much a word spoken between me and you about such things. My macintosh still works, my life is good, but there are pieces of me missing still. I don’t know who my biological dad is, and wish to do so. Trenton is begging me to get a DNA test, and I’m seriously trying to beg the world to reopen again, especially in the United States, New York being the epicenter of the corona virus. I pray those people get better, Gods willing. Whatever Gods or god you believe in, they will find a way to make this world a better place.

Ben, there are a few people I wish I could say goodbye and that I love right now. Kaitlyn and I were on the mend with friendships, and all that. Trenton loved her enthusiasm about android and a laptop, but no, she died. I only wish Katy could talk to me again, and I don’t know if I will ever meet her in the Summer Land of Plenty, the universe reverberating with its billions of stars. Maybe even the trillions of stars will spell out her name, but Katy has the sweetest smile and the funniest laugh. Her father would have done her funeral, but when she died, no one claimed her body. She was probably buried in an unmarked grave. There’s a holiday in Mexico, Dia de los muertos, which in English translates to “day of the dead.” I’m going to dedicate my altar to Kaitlyn, and do a ceremony for her spirit and hope to the Gods she passes through the essence of time and in to the hands of the Heavenly Realms. I loved Kaitlyn, and I won’t stop thinking of how dehumanized she was at her death, and won’t stop until my own funeral procession with bagpipes is played on the streets of Denver. And Ben, I have a favor to ask, don’t go to my funeral. And no, if you wonder, I’m not suicidal. I just want a small funeral, but I already asked a fellow blind American to do my eulogy if something god forbid happens to me. I have written letters to Cari Loveridge, the spirit of whom is in Heaven’s gates, watching as I type this thing. Cari was 15 or so when she died of cancer that spread and ate her body, but who knew she’d conquer death with a last breath and still live on in my memory? Kaitlyn’s family didn’t support or take her in and didn’t want to, and as a result of California’s inadequate and unsafe housing practices, she died. And her family wanted me and others to forget her, but Kaitlyn is in my head, my heart, my memory. I don’t hear voices, don’t say I’m crazy, only that my remembering Kaitlyn is important to me, for she resembled the me that wasn’t. She suffered gravely at the hands of the states, but she won’t be forgotten.

While I understand that Kaitlyn is gone, Cari is gone, and countless other spirits will go in the next life due to the illness currently ransacking the human race, death is only to me a transformation, a change of state. I see death the way ancients see death, the Celts saw death differently.

Ben, do you know what I want to do next? I want to try and do more and produce my own music, using the knowledge of reaper and garage band. I plan to make an album, so if you have any ideas for me, let me know.

Your friend,

Beth

Author: denverqueen

My name is Beth. I'm blind from birth and enjoy the blogging atmosphere. I am a creative person, a musician, a writer, etc. This is me. Take it or leave it.