The Deathday Letter

by Shaun David Hutchinson

  “Hey, Ollie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you hadn’t gotten your letter, what do you think you would have grown up to be?”

  Silence follows because I don’t know what to say. Ronnie takes that to mean something else and immediately apologizes. “Sorry, Ollie, I just . . . I didn’t mean to make you think about . . .

  I just . . .”

  After a few moments I say, “No, that’s okay. I thought about it.”

  “And?”

  “I wanted to be a lot of things. A chef like Dad, an astronaut, a fireman, a professional video gamer.”

  “What about everything else?”

  “Like, did I think about going to college and getting married and having a litter of kids and a mortgage and going bald and getting fat?”

  “Something like that.” Ronnie’s voice is soft.

  “Not seriously. And not ’cause I’m the kind of guy who lives each moment like it’s his last, but because I was always afraid of the future. The future was something that would happen later. Mostly I just wanted to get through the day without drooling on myself.”

  “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

  I smile at Ronnie. “Nah, it’s cool. But now I’m glad I didn’t waste a butt load of time thinking about the future.”

  “Doesn’t that make you angry though? That your future’s being taken away from you?”

  “Maybe. But I think that if I’d had a future, I probably would have found a way to botch it. Besides, getting my letter brought you back into my life. So, that’s a plus.”

  Ronnie sits up and says, “Do you remember that game we used to play in middle school?”

  “Dodgeball?”

  Ronnie shakes her head.

  “Name That Hooker?”

  Ronnie laughs silently. “Definitely no.”

  “Then I don’t remember.”

  “Come on. The Vagina Game? Where you fill in movie titles with the V word?”

  I sit up beside Ronnie. “You always hated that game. Said it was demeaning.”

  Ronnie motions for me to come closer. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Who am I gonna tell?”

  “Good point.” Ronnie looks around like she’s making sure we’re alone. “I only pretended to hate that game. When you guys played it, I’d yell at you, but secretly I’d write my favorites in a spiral notebook when I got home.”

  “You big fibber.” My grin busts out. “I can’t believe you never told me. So what have you got?”

  “Now?”

  “No, tomorrow. Of course now.”

  Ronnie screws up her face in concentration. “No Country for Old Vaginas.”

  “Not bad,” I say with a chuckle. “How about The Time Traveler’s Vagina.”

  Now we’re both laughing. “Hellboy II: The Golden Vagina,” tosses out Ronnie.

  “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Vagina.”

  Ronnie’s practically howling and she can barely speak. “Charlie and the Chocolate Vagina.” She throws her arms around my neck and her laughter begins to sound like crying.

  “Ronnie?”

  “Nothing. No. I’m fine.”

  I put my arms around her and let her laugh even though I really do think she’s crying.

  When Ronnie finishes, she pushes me away and stands up. “We should finish the wall.” She smoothes her shirt and gets her brush.

  “Yeah.” I follow her back and look up at the wall again.

  Ronnie climbs the ladder and begins to paint again. I grab a rag and try to wipe my cheek and neck clean. When I finish, Ronnie’s staring at me from her perch.

  “Pirates of the Caribbean,” she says, “Dead Man’s Vagina.”

  0:17

  The air is thick and wet. The cars drive by, their headlights blinking like their drivers, who are awake on this early morning, trying to clear the crumblies from their eyes. The world is a wonder, a sleeping dog trying to breathe its first breath of the morning.

  But Ronnie and I aren’t in that world. We’re in a world of intoxicating paint smells, of brushes that shuuuu-shuuuu-shuuuu as Ronnie drags them across the brick wall, of freakishly bright floodlights.

  I feel like I could live forever at this wall, in this second, with Ronnie and the paints. This second is better than sex. I don’t really have any frame of reference, but that doesn’t matter. I just know. I know it in the same way I know that Ronnie’s gonna need a new, smaller brush with the blue paint.

  But the next second I’ll hear the rustling of the leaves as the wind from the ocean blows the day in. The day that will take me away from this second and Ronnie and our world made of brick and paint and halogen light.

  The outside world filled with wonder and beginnings, and my world of death and endings, are about to collide. But for one more minute I stare at Ronnie, sitting at the top of the ladder, one brush in her mouth, one in her hand. Her sweatshirt is a patchwork of paint stains and strands of paint-flecked hair are tucked behind her ear.

  I could die right now. This is one of those perfect moments in life. Like family dinner, or drinking with Shane. A moment where life and death and pudding and girls named Hurricane don’t matter even a little. It’s one of those perfect moments where only the people in it matter, and that’s Ronnie and me.

  Except I can’t die here. This is Ronnie’s moment. I get what Ronnie’s father was trying to tell me. She would die with me a little if I let her. Because that’s what memory is. If I died now, every time she came to this wall, she’d die too. So this moment has to belong to her. She can’t die for me. I have to live for her. Not really live, that’s not gonna happen. I have to be alive in this moment for her, so that every time she comes here, to her wall, I’ll be here with her. Alive.

  Which is why we have to go.

  The sun’s not up yet. I don’t know what time it is, but I know that my time’s about up.

  I can’t hide anymore and I know it. It’s like the time I got a D in Geometry, which wasn’t my fault. There should be a rule that all high school teachers should be older than sixty and not have an awesome rack. Anyway, I hid that report card as long as I could, enjoying my freedom in that space where my parents didn’t know. I was aware that eventually I’d have to face the consequences, and as that time drew near, time became this tangible thing, a noose pulling tighter.

  The funny thing is that the closer my death gets, the calmer I feel. Not at all like Geometry. Oh, I’m still afraid. Afraid of dying badly, afraid of all the things I won’t get to finish, afraid of what is or isn’t waiting for me after death. But I just know that I can’t run any farther. There are no more bridges to jump off, no more lighthouses to hide in, no more girls who aren’t Ronnie to almost have sloppy sex with. It’s just me and the end of my life.

  And Ronnie. Always Ronnie.

  “Ronnie?”

  She looks down from what she’s doing. There’s a smile on her lips that hasn’t left in hours.

  “Huh?”

  “Can you come down here?”

  Ronnie looks at me and then the wall, and sighs. “You need to go home.” It’s not a question. Maybe she can feel time as acutely as I can.

  But I shake my head. “No. There’s one last thing I wanna do and it’s not on anyone’s list.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve never seen the sunrise from the beach.”

  Ronnie cocks her head to the side like the idea of me wanting to see the sunrise is as strange as a roast beef sub without any mayo. But a guy can appreciate a little nature on the last day of his life, can’t he? I’m just sayin’.

  Plus, there’s still so much I need to say to Ronnie, things she may not want to hear, and the beach, the sunrise, feels like the right place for that.

  “Whatever you want, Ollie.” She starts packing up her brushes, but I take her hand. “I’m not sure we have time for that.”

  She checks her phone. “Right. Sun rises soon.” But I wasn’t talking about that. “Do y
ou think we can make it in time?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Then we should hurry.” There’s a tear balanced on her eyelid. But this isn’t the place for tears. Not those tears. This is a happy place. Ronnie’s place. And I’ll always be here waiting for her.

  We both face the wall and all the pieces have come together. It’s Ronnie and Shane and me, frozen in time as we jump from the bridge. It looks like we could leap right out of the wall. Even though Shane’s face is frozen in that epic scream of his, we’re all smiling. And Carpe Mortediem! is written down my arm, even though I wasn’t inked when we jumped. It’s all there. The water and the bridge and Officer Tubby. There’s even a small ship in the water that somehow kind of looks like a certain part of the female anatomy. It’s still unfinished but I can see it. I know how it ends.

  “It’s beautiful, Ronnie.”

  “I didn’t get to finish.”

  “Most people never do. But you will. I know it.”

  * * *

  We drive to the beach in silence, which is okay with me. I’ve managed not to screw things up thus far, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it that way.

  I’m not much of a morning person. Usually if I’m up before dawn it’s to take a leak and then crawl back into bed. But I’ve seen my share of mornings. Enough to know that they’re usually bright and loud and damp.

  I’ll admit though, and maybe it’s just ’cause I know I’m never gonna see another morning as long as I live, I’m totally in love with this morning.

  It could have something to do with the fact that Ronnie’s here with me. Maybe. Just a little.

  And I know she’s feeling it too.

  Miss Piggy’s windows are down and I can hear the birds doing their whole “Look at my feathers” song and dance. At least I guess that’s what they’re singing about. What else do birds have to sing about except for their feathers or eggs or nummy, nummy worms?

  It almost makes me wish I’d taken the time to see more dawns instead of playing Whac-A-Mole under my covers. Almost. Still, I have this time left and I’m not gonna squander it. I breathe it all in.

  Ronnie smiles at me as I park on the side of the road. She’s a mess. Wow. I seriously think there might be more paint on her than on the wall.

  “Why are you laughing?” she asks.

  I lick my thumb and try to wipe some of the paint off of her cheek but it’s not coming off. “No reason.” But I can’t help laughing.

  “I think we missed the sunrise.”

  My laugh falls silent. Maybe I missed my moment.

  “Maybe there’s still some left.” Ronnie practically jumps out of the car. “Come on!”

  I open my door and freak as a car with its horn blaring passes, swerving into the other lane to avoid my door. Which is sticking out into the road. Because I’m an idiot.

  “Nice one, Ollie,” says Ronnie, and she takes off toward the water.

  I check to make sure there are no more cars, and get out. Caught up in Ronnie’s smile and laugh, I chase her down the sand. One of my shoes flies off but I don’t even care. It’s just a shoe.

  I’m sweaty and out of breath by the time we reach the edge of the water, which doesn’t say too much for my general state of fitness. It’s like a twenty-second sprint. But the water tickles my toes and I’m reborn.

  The sun is half up. I can’t believe I’ve never seen this before. You know how the Greeks thought that some blond dude in a chariot was the one who made the sun rise? Yeah, well that’s bullshit. It’s Ronnie. She’s the one who makes the sun rise with her smile and her laugh. They pull the sun through the sky the same way they pulled me out of Shane’s car and down the beach.

  We watch the sun until it’s all the way up and we’re just two people being bathed in its light.

  “You know I’m sorry, right?”

  “It’s not your fault,” says Ronnie.

  “Really?”

  “You didn’t send yourself a Deathday Letter.”

  “Oh. Right. I actually meant about Hurricane, but if we’re not talking about that, then I’m totally good.”

  Ronnie turns to me. “I can’t be mad at you for that. I am, don’t get me wrong, but you are who you are.”

  “But that’s not who I am, Ronnie. I would have waited for you forever. I just thought you didn’t want me anymore.” I can feel the tear in the corner of my eye and I don’t care. Maybe that makes me a wuss, but at some point every guy’s gotta man up and admit he’s got a soft spot.

  “I always wanted you, Oliver. But you turned into this other person when we dated. You never wanted to talk anymore. All you wanted to do was make out. And you talked about sex all the time. There was all this pressure.”

  I kick at the sand with my one socked foot. “Trying to get laid is like a biological imperative. I can’t help it. Shane can explain it better. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

  “Do you even know what that means, Ollie? Because I’m not sure I do.”

  I hook my thumbs in my pockets and feel the corner of my letter poking out. “I think I do. It’s confusing. There are two of you.”

  “Are you still high?”

  “It’s not like that. One day you stopped being Ronnie and you started being Veronica. Veronica’s this beautiful, awesome, amazing, untouchable girl. But Ronnie’s my best friend. I just didn’t know how to reconcile the two. I love Ronnie the way I love Shane but I love Veronica in a way that makes me feel like I’m being turned inside out.”

  “But I’m the same person,” she says. “It’s all me.”

  “Damn it, Veronica, you know I’m not good with this kind of stuff. You’re my best friend, you always will be, but you’re also the girl I’m head over heels, jump off a bridge for, madly in love with. And when you broke up with me, it tore me apart.”

  Ronnie looks like she wants to take my hand but she doesn’t. “I’m not ready for this now, I wasn’t ready for it then. Ollie, that’s why I broke up with you. This, us, it’s all too confusing. I hoped that one day we’d get to try again. This is so unfair.” Ronnie’s about to lose it.

  “Veronica.” I take her chin in my hand. “I. Love. You. Maybe I don’t know what that means, and maybe you don’t either, but I know how it feels. It feels like I’m tied in knots and I’m on fire and that I have so many feelings that I just can’t contain myself.”

  I pull Ronnie to me. Without fear or hesitation. “I know you feel it too. I saw it in your eyes on the bridge.”

  Her body is warm against mine and she’s staring right at me with her green eyes. They’re like bloodstones, rusty and green.

  “Tell me what it was like,” Ronnie says.

  “Driving? Getting tattooed?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “Kissing Hurricane.”

  I thought we weren’t talking about Hurricane but my thoughts drift back to that kiss.

  “It was kind of wet. Really wet. And toothy.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Eh. It was okay.”

  Veronica giggles. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Well, she kind of attacked me. It’s not really an experience I’d care to repeat.”

  Veronica’s head droops and she kicks at the sand. “So she wasn’t better than me?”

  “Definitely not. You’re like in the major leagues of kissing and she’s one step above the Special Olympics.”

  “Don’t be mean,” says Ronnie, and she slaps my shoulder for good measure.

  “Ow!”

  “You deserved that.” Ronnie smiles and gets even closer. “How about we see if I can erase the terrible memory of Hurricane.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “And I promise not to attack you.”

  I stutter and shake. “That’d be awesome.”

  Ronnie closes her eyes and I close my eyes and our faces inch together. I can feel her breathing and I can almost taste her lips. Then I miss and kiss her nose.

 
“Sorry,” I say, and try to keep from laughing.

  Veronica doesn’t even try. She’s laughing harder than I’ve seen her laugh all day.

  “So, you do know it’s mean to laugh at a dude with a Deathday Letter ’cause he’s a crappy kisser?”

  Ronnie winks at me. “You’re not a crappy kisser. You’re just out of practice. Let’s fix that.”

  Veronica grabs my hand and pulls me to her and kisses me. And it is nothing like kissing Hurricane.

  Time stops. Not literally, but close enough. We’re unstuck in time with our lips pressing against each other’s. I’ve kissed Ronnie loads of times but this is different. Her lips are warm and soft and she wraps her arms around my waist and I pull her as close to me as I can, like I’m trying to absorb her body into mine.

  This is how kissing should be. I could be wrong and I’ll never get the chance to know, but maybe kissing’s only good when it’s with someone you really love.

  I never want to stop kissing Veronica Dittrich. I want to kiss her until the world ends and then just a few seconds longer.

  And then it ends. Not the world. The kiss. But it could be the world for all I care.

  She brushes my face with her hand. “I don’t want you to die.”

  The sun is in the sky. The day is born. It’s tomorrow.

  “Veronica. This moment, this second, this is us. You and me.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “I love you, Veronica Dittrich. I need you to know that.”

  There’s so much to say, too much to say. I want to tell her that she’s the most important thing that ever happened to me. I want to tell her that every night before I went to sleep, it was her that I thought about, and that every time I walked the halls and she wasn’t with me, I looked for her. And that what she did for me today made it okay for me to die.

  I want to tell her there’s nothing else I need before I die. Sure, there’s loads of stuff I could do, loads of stuff I’d like to do, but I’m happy. Right now, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been, and I can’t imagine living a thousand lifetimes and ever being happier than I am right this second.

  I need to tell her that this is our perfect moment. So that she’ll remember me and remember that she loved me, but know that I couldn’t have died happier.