It’s because of you that I went from a punk ass kid tattooing friends in my mother’s basement to a proud business owner. Riverdale Ink may be mine but it’s you that keeps it moving, especially these days. You are the heart and soul of that place, without you there wouldn’t be any Riverdale Ink. I never had to explain my situation, never had to ask for your help, you jumped right in and took it upon yourself to take care of the business. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. Hey buddy, if I beat this shit, let’s open another studio. You and I. Partners. I can see it can you?
Not only have you been the man driving my art, but you also helped me discover my other passion. I always loved motorcycles but I never thought I’d have one of my own. (I thought my mother would drop dead the day I told her I was buying a Harley. Did you know she went into the attic and brought down my helmet from when I played Tee ball? I shit you not man. She told me to wear it when I drove the bike) Not only did I end up owning my own motorcycle but you hooked me up with a classic. That bike is a beautiful piece of machinery. Now that I think about it, I wonder why you didn’t snatch that beauty up for yourself.
Like everything else, you showed me how to race and how to maneuver a stunt bike. (My bank account is hurting from all the hobbies I’ve accumulated thanks to you) I’m sitting in bed today, writing this letter to you, when all I want to do is call you up and ask you to meet me at the track. I want to go back to that first day you let me ride your stunt bike. I want to feel the way I did when you told me to keep my balance and lift my hands from the handlebars. I want to be that guy again. I’m not sure I ever will be. Thank you for giving those experiences and for teaching me.
Thank you Pete, for being the friend I always needed, the friend who always had my back.
B.F.F.L. (Come on, laugh, it’s funny!)
Forever Your Friend,
Jake
Stunt Bike & Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire (Thanks to you!)
Dear Principal Willis,
Remember that time when your car was wrapped in toilet paper outside of Riverdale High School? Remember the man hunt you went on to find out who was responsible for the shitty thing that happened to your car? (No pun intended) It was me! I wrapped your car in toilet paper. And if I’m being a hundred percent honest, I’m also the guy who lit the garbage cans on fire on top of the roof of the school.
I did a lot of stupid things when I was in high school. I mean I was the king of pranks, I had a reputation to uphold. I’m sorry I busted your balls day after day. It was a long four years, wasn’t it?
I believe I spent more time in your office than I did in any other class. Even when I hadn’t committed the offense you assumed I had. My poor mother was called into your office once a week. I guess I deserved it. I did send a plumber, 1800-Mattress, and twelve heart-shaped pizza’s to your house once.
Anyway, I’m writing this letter to tell you karma has kicked me in the ass. I’m sorry for tormenting you but don’t worry I’m paying the price.
Sincerely,
The grown ass guy who sent Chinese food to your house today!
Dear Father Gallo,
You and I go way back. I’m pretty sure every sacrament I’ve received has been at your hand. So it seemed only fitting that you be the one who gave me what will probably be the last sacrament I make. Today my dad asked me to go to church with him. I won’t lie and say I was excited to go or that I even had a desire too. You see I feel like I’m losing my faith. I can’t understand why if there is a God, why he would do this to me. I’m struggling with it but I won’t tell my old man that.
My pops, he isn’t a holy roller by any means but he goes to church on Sundays. Today he wanted to go and light a candle. He wanted to ask God to help me find the strength to ask my brother and sister to be tested, so that we can see if they are a match. I’m struggling with that too. I don’t want to have Sam and Luke go through all that, just to prolong the inevitable. The clock is ticking. The sand is traveling through the hourglass. I’m as good as toast.
Anyhow, my mom and dad are begging me to ask Sam and Nick. Cara isn’t even talking to me until I ask them. I guess my back is against the wall. Maybe I should ask them. If not for me but for everyone I love. I don’t want to seem as if I’m giving up but really at some point doesn’t one have to accept their fate?
Seeing as today is a Tuesday and there is no scheduled mass the church was empty. I stood with my father as he lit a candle and said a silent prayer to St. Joseph, his patron saint. Once he was done we found our way into the last pew of the church. We remained silent for a while and I found myself staring at the altar, then at the large crucifix that hung over it. “God? Are you there?” I asked silently. No answer.
That’s when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked over my shoulder and met your familiar gaze. It had been a long time since I had seen you last. I think it was my confirmation. You smiled warmly at me and then at my father. My dad shook your hand and you asked if everything was okay. Apparently you notice my dad standing in the back of the church every Sunday during mass. My dad looked over at me, his eyes questioning me, as if to ask me if it was okay to explain what was going on to you. I shrugged my shoulders and slightly nodded. I figured this was his thing. He wanted to come here, might as well let him get the full affect and all that jazz.
My father broke down. I have never seen my dad break down but right there, in front me, you and God, he broke down and explained that I was dying of cancer. He cried that he didn’t know what to do as a parent. One question stuck out to me. He asked, “How do I just sit back and let God call him home?”
That’s when you took over. You explained that God has a plan for all of us, even me. That no one can question God’s plan but simply have faith in him. You gave my father a phone number for a support group. Father Gallo, when I’m gone please make sure he and my mom use the number. Today I saw my dad’s faith helped him through this trying time and maybe that is what will get him through my death.
You suggested that you perform the anointing of the sick on me. I freaked out because I felt as if you were giving me my last rights but you told me that the church has reformed a bit and instead of giving the sacrament to someone on their death bed the church now does it to those who are sick. Once you finished you took my hand and asked me to pray with you.
I’m ashamed to tell you the only prayer I remember is the Our Father, so when you said pray I almost shit my pants. Can I say that to you? I take it back. I almost lost my cool. Better? Anyway, it turned out that I didn’t have to say a word. You took my hand and asked God to hear our prayer and recited a prayer that they definitely don’t teach you in Religious Instructions. We prayed to Saint Peregrine, the patron saint of cancer patients.
I had never heard of Saint Peregrine, so when I got back home I googled him. Peregrine was to have his foot cut off because of a spreading cancer. Poor guy. He spent the night before his operation praying, falling asleep in front of his crucified Savior. In a dream, Christ stretched out his hand from the cross onto his cancerous foot, when he awoke the next morning he was cured.
Two things happened today, Father, and I have you to thank for them. The first thing I did when I came home, after my google research, was call my brother and sister. They are going to get tested tomorrow. The second thing I did was pray. I prayed out loud for the first time in years and I prayed to Saint Peregrine:
Saint Peregrine, whom Holy Mother Church has declared patron of those suffering from running sores and cancer, I confidently turn to you for aid in my present need: A bone marrow transplant that will work.
Lest I lose confidence, I beg your kind intercession. Plead with Mary, the Mother of Sorrows, whom you loved so tenderly and in union with whom you have suffered the pains of cancer, that she may help me with her all powerful prayers and consolation.
Obtain for me the strength to accept my trials from the loving hand of God with patience and resignation. May suffering lead me to a better life a
nd enable me to atone for my own sins and the sins of the world.
Amen
Sincerely,
Saint Jake (What? It could happen, can’t it?)
Dear Nick,
I’m getting the hang of this journal thing. When you first gave it to me, I was sure you were off your rocker. I thought to myself, ‘Poor guy’s been stuck in the rain too long. Seattle fucked with his head.’ I mean how could a blank book possibly help a dying man?
It helped more than you’ll ever know. You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know. I mean what guy who is trying to win the girl of his dreams goes and shaves his head, all because her brother’s losing his hair? Some might say you did it to win the girl, a play for heart, but I know better. You did it because you’re my brother. Just like you gave me this journal. You gave me the gift of my mind. The thoughts I’m too afraid to speak. The words that are all my truths collected through these dark days.
You called me this morning to tell me you went to the lab to get tested too. We both know you more than likely won’t be a match and that my best shot of a match is a true sibling. I just want you to know that the blood that flows through our veins isn’t what makes us brothers and although right now I need a blood brother, (or sister) I’ll always cherish the brother you are to me. A brother of the heart is just as valuable to a man as the one of blood.
Yours Truly,
Your Brother Jake (you can be Luke’s brother too, but I claimed you first and it’s on paper so I win)
Dear Cara,
I don’t know where to begin. I keep putting this off, thinking I still have time, not really sure if I do. I’m scared I will keep procrastinating and never get to tell you all the things I want to.
I’ve decided to stop using this journal as an outlet for me during my illness. Today is the first day I will begin to fill the blank pages with letters to you. If I told you everything that was going on in my head, you’d probably beat the crap out of me. I’m too weak and the truth is I’ve seen you fight and you could probably kick my ass even if I was feeling a hundred percent. It doesn’t matter because you probably will read these entries after I’m gone and know all the thoughts I tried to hide from you.
Dear Cara,
I’ve decided to stop using this journal as an outlet for me during my illness. Today is the first day I will begin to fill the blank pages with letters to you. If I told you everything that was going on in my head, you’d probably beat the crap out of me. I’m too weak and the truth is I’ve seen you fight and you could probably kick my ass even if I was feeling a hundred percent.
Why is it so hard for me to write this letter to you? You’ve been the one person I never had a problem talking to. I always felt I could tell you anything, well not everything. I was afraid to tell you that I didn’t want to be your friend anymore, that I wanted to be the man that loves you. But you know that already.
All our plans for the future have once again been put on hold due to Cancer. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’re going through this shit storm. I probably should’ve waited until I knew if the chemotherapy had worked for sure, before I asked you to marry me. But I was so sure. I’m such an asshole. I guess that’s what they mean by false hope. All the medical websites I’ve been looking at, there are these testimonials from Cancer survivors, and their families. Most of the time, after you’ve received chemotherapy, your life goes back to the way it was before you were diagnosed. They say you feel like you are reclaiming your life, and that’s what I thought too. I wasn’t naïve to think I would be in remission when the PET scan results came back, but I did think that the chemo had worked a little bit. I know you were just as disappointed as I was when the doctor said it had done nothing but damage some of my organs.
Dear Cara,
I’ve decided to stop using this journal as an outlet for me during my illness. Today is the first day I will begin to fill the blank pages with letters to you. If I told you everything that was going on in my head, you’d probably beat the crap out of me. I’m too weak and the truth is I’ve seen you fight and you could probably kick my ass even if I was feeling a hundred percent.
All our plans for the future have once again been put on hold due to Cancer. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’re going through this shit storm. I probably should’ve waited until I knew if the chemotherapy had worked for sure, before I asked you to marry me. But I was so sure. I guess that’s what they mean by false hope. All the medical websites I’ve been looking at, there are these testimonials from Cancer survivors, and their families. Most of the time, after you’ve received chemotherapy, your life goes back to the way it was before you were diagnosed. They say you feel like you are reclaiming your life, and that’s what I thought too. I wasn’t naïve to think I would be in remission when the PET scan results came back, but I did think that the chemo had worked a little bit. I know you were just as disappointed as I was when the doctor said it had done nothing but damage some of my organs.
I know that no matter what, even if we had just remained friends, you still would be by my side. God allowed me time with the girl of my dreams and even allowed me to call her my fiancé. How could I ever complain? I can’t complain but I can be mad as hell can’t I? We should’ve had a lifetime to spend loving each other. Not a few fucking months. Bullshit, I call bullshit on this whole situation.
Dear Cara,
I’ve decided to stop using this journal as an outlet for me during my illness. Today is the first day I will begin to fill the blank pages with letters to you. If I told you everything that was going on in my head, you’d probably beat the crap out of me. I’m too weak and the truth is I’ve seen you fight and you could probably kick my ass even if I was feeling a hundred percent.
All our plans for the future have once again been put on hold due to Cancer. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’re going through this shit storm. I probably should’ve waited until I knew if the chemotherapy had worked for sure, before I asked you to marry me. But I was so sure. I guess that’s what they mean by false hope. All the medical websites I’ve been looking at, there are these testimonials from Cancer survivors, and their families. Most of the time, after you’ve received chemotherapy, your life goes back to the way it was before you were diagnosed. They say you feel like you are reclaiming your life, and that’s what I thought too. I wasn’t naïve to think I would be in remission when the PET scan results came back, but I did think that the chemo had worked a little bit. I know you were just as disappointed as I was when the doctor said it had done nothing but damage some of my organs.
I know that no matter what, even if we had just remained friends, you still would be my side. God allowed me time with the girl of my dreams and even allowed me to call her my fiancé. How could I ever complain?
I’m probably dying. I can say that on paper, not out loud. I’m too much of a coward. I should probably strike that. This isn’t a letter welcoming you to my pity party. The doctors have already told me that they cannot continue treatment with chemo, my body isn’t reacting well. Instead of it killing the cancer the drugs are killing me. Next step is a bone marrow transplant and we’re on the hunt for the donor. Luke and Sam are probably taking bets on which one of them will be the perfect match. I just hope it works. The thought of dying isn’t as scary as the thought of never seeing you again. Christ, just saying it is hard. To never see my sweet Cara go through all the milestones of life that we have been talking about. I bet you’ll be the most beautiful bride. I’m sorry I can’t talk about that. I don’t think I can bring myself to discuss how you’ll look when you’re pregnant either, or the mother that you will be. I better stop writing to you today or I’ll be a basket case.
Dear Cara I Finally nailed it! (I bet you thought I was going to say you and not it!)
I’ve decided t
o stop using this journal as an outlet for me during my illness. Today is the first day I will begin to fill the blank pages with letters to you. If I told you everything that was going on in my head, you’d probably beat the crap out of me. I’m too weak and the truth is I’ve seen you fight and you could probably kick my ass even if I was feeling a hundred percent.
All our plans for the future have once again been put on hold due to Cancer. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’re going through this shit storm. I probably should’ve waited until I knew if the chemotherapy had worked for sure, before I asked you to marry me. But I was so sure. I guess that’s what they mean by false hope. All the medical websites I’ve been looking at, there are these testimonials from Cancer survivors, and their families. Most of the time, after you’ve received chemotherapy, your life goes back to the way it was before you were diagnosed. They say you feel like you are reclaiming your life, and that’s what I thought too. I wasn’t naïve to think I would be in remission when the PET scan results came back, but I did think that the chemo had worked a little bit. I know you were just as disappointed as I was when the doctor said it had done nothing but damage some of my organs.
I know that no matter what, even if we had just remained friends, you still would be my side. God allowed me time with the girl of my dreams and even allowed me to call her my fiancé. How could I ever complain?
Jake' Journal: The Riverdale Series Companion Page 3
