I think you, with your wise-beyond-your-years outlook on life, would be the first to tell me that it’s time to move on fifteen years later. If the roles were reversed, as I often wished they could have been, I would have wanted you to be happy. I would never have wanted you to still be broken up about my death after so long. I’d have wanted you to find a way to move on and find someone to be happy with, and I’m not just saying that to justify my decision to finally move on and go down this path now. I mean it. And Bill - my therapist, good guy - has made me realize that if what you and I had was as real as I always insist, then you’d want the same for me.
It’s time for me to stop clutching onto your memory and allow you to rest in peace. It’s the least you deserve.
And it’s time for me to let go of the horrible images I have of your death, and stop letting them spoil all the other wonderful memories I’ve kept and will always keep. Asking you out by the lockers after math class, and being unable to stop smiling when you said yes. The time you taught me how to make enchiladas and I made too muchsauce and it went everywhere. The time we went to Mardi Gras. The way you and my mom and sister loved each other so much. Beer pong with you at house parties. Every single kiss we ever shared. Walking down the hall hand in hand with you, knowing all my friends would have killed to trade places with me because you are so goddamn beautiful. Always, no matter what. These thoughts are making me smile as I write them down, and I could write a thousand more of them. I would so much rather think of you with happiness instead of pain, and I’m working really hard to make that happen. And I think, at long last, I’m starting to turn that corner, or at least approach it.
I promise you, here and now, that no matter how much that other terrible image of you tries to ruin your memory, to me, in my heart, you will always be the beautiful girl with the mesmerizing doe eyes and a banging cheerleader uniform, smiling at me in the sunshine from across the quad.
It’s time for me to go, Callie Lopez. Time for me to get braver and honor you by living a good life with my Liaden, who is waiting for me so patiently and with so much hope in her heart. Hope I’m starting to genuinely share.
Thank you for every single moment we had. I’ll always cherish them, pretty girl.
Dean
To William Howard Whitmire.
Both Joe and Dr Sindri tell me that I’M the one who benefits, not you, if I forgive you for what you did, and for everything that happened. They say that forgiving you will allow me to let go and move on healthily without any toxic anger and hate holding me back. They’re good people, and I do see where they’re coming from.
Still, I respectfully disagree with them.
I’m not giving you shit because I owe you nothing. Not understanding. Not kindness. Definitely not my forgiveness, not after everything you took from me. The girl I loved with all my heart. My friends. My voice. My entire fucking adult life, up until now.
You destroyed hundreds - literally hundreds - of lives. Not just the people you murdered, but their families. Such far reaching, painful consequences for everyone involved. And for what? Because you got fired for being an asshole? Fuck you and how dare you and fuck you again.
I’ve been told by so many people that you were obviously very seriously mentally ill, and I’m telling you now that I very seriously don’t give a flying fuck. That is no kind of excuse or mitigating circumstance. I don’t care how sick you were, or how bad you were suffering, it did not give you any right or justification to murder a room full of innocent people. You get no sympathy or understanding from me.
The painful surgeries. The constant terror, all day every day. The nightmares, the insomnia, the flashbacks, the hallucinations. The scar on Leo’s face. Eli having to babysit his adult cousin. All of this is ultimately on you.
And that’s the fucking least of it. However much I’ve suffered because of you, that’s the motherfucking least of your crimes.
You killed Callie, one of the most beautiful humans ever to grace this earth.
And you’re the one who killed Mrs Oberman and her baby. Not me. It’s taken me a decade and a half to even begin to grasp that there’s every chance you’d have found her and killed them anyway even if I’d gone into a different classroom that night. I’m not taking on your guilt anymore, so I guess I am giving you something, actually. I’m giving you your guilt back.
My loved ones will never hear me speak the words ‘I love you’ to them ever again. My girlfriend has never heard me say that and never will, because of you. Bravo, you piece of shit.
So no, I’m not going to forgive you. I never, ever will under any circumstances.
What I WILL do is discard you like yesterday’s trash.
I couldn’t protect Callie from you, or Mrs Oberman and her baby, but I can protect Liaden from you by getting rid of you once and for all so you and your far reaching consequences can’t hurt her.
You’ve had fifteen years of my life. You’re not getting another minute more. I’m giving you nothing, not my forgiveness, but not my attention, either.
I forget you, Freddy Krueger.
Rot in hell.
Dean fucking Gastright, the boy you couldn’t kill and the man you can’t break anymore.
Day49
Today I felt strong enough to answer Latanya’s email. I managed to retrieve her message, and when I read it again, allI feel is admiration. She worded everything so carefully, and she’s clearly done a lot of work on herself to get here. I wasn’t the only person who suffered that night.
When she found me, I was barely clinging to life, and for years, I was so angry with her for finding me too soon for me to just die on the floor and not have to live with what happened. But now, I just keep thinking about whatshewent through. Wading through the mangled bodies of almost everyone she knew. Inexplicably alive and unharmed. Terrified to move, not knowing where the gunman was, just that it had been quiet for a while. Her best friend’s boyfriend coughs some blood bubbles, and suddenly there’s a fragment of hope. Someone she could save. And I’d spent all this time hating her for it.
I explained to her in the email that I needed a little more time before I decided if I could read her book, and the truth was I might never be able to read it, but I sincerely wished her well with it. And I asked her to let everyone who reads it know how happy we all were before it happened. And how loved. With a special mention for Callie, just because.
She sent me an email back, and I was only able to read the first line before my eyes misted over. I regret the long silence between us, when we could have pulled together, grieving and remembering the same people, helping each other through it.
