Dear Nobody (16 page)

Dear Nobody,

Ever since I've been in rehab, I keep having the most terrifying dreams about the guys who raped me. They always come at me—with the intent to kill me. I scream, I cry, I try to run, but I am stuck steadfast to the earth, my feet melting to the ground. I try to run—to fight back—but I am paralyzed. I see my Geoff and our friends looming around in the darkness; barely acknowledging what's going on. When my voice returns I scream out; I kick out violently with all of my might. I beg and plead for the rapist's mercy; I beg and plead for Geoff or ANYONE to rescue me, BUT NO ONE HELPS ME. I am brutalized, raped and put into the trunk of a white car. The rapist—followed by Geoff and his friends—get into the car. I'm left half-dead. Other times I fall while running—and wake up with a jump. These dreams feel so real; so frightening. The thing that hurts the most is that Geoff doesn't ever try to save me. I wonder why he hasn't returned any of my letters?

INVENTORY WORKSHEET

Sometimes I think it must have all happened by chance. Other times I am almost certain every second of my life has already been planned, and is waiting to be lived. I've had enough, haven't I? At first heroin was just for fun. Then I needed it. Mentally and physically. I felt sick without it sometimes. It seemed all that mattered. But how? How could it be? If it weren't for that one night, could my whole life be so different? If that one night never happened, oh, if only. Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was to be? Why? Why me? Hmm? It had to have been planned. Will things ever be any better? Dare I say as good as they were? I look around myself and wonder, “Who am I?” How could this ever have happened? And where's Mary Rose? Who am I? How could my life have gotten so screwed up? I've lost all happiness, and control of my life. How?

Dear Geoff,

Hey, it's me again. I'm BACK in rehab! I keep writing to you, but you don't write me back. I miss you. I'm in pain right now and can't breathe too well. After they let me out of here I'll probably go straight back into the hospital—the one in Philly.

I've thought about you a lot while I've been in here; when I was a little girl—and then a little older—I always thought I'd only fall in love with someone from the hospital—someone like me. But, instead I got someone even better than anyone else—I got YOU.

Geoff, Geoff, GEOFF!

Oh Geoff, I wish you could have seen me when I was a lot younger and much more healthier. Then I wish you could have seen me when I was younger and much more sicker (in some aspects). I always daydream about if you could be there with me for all of it.

Maybe someday, if they give me a transplant or find a cure for me, maybe then you will stay with me.

I've just always thought that and thought maybe I should write to you about it.

Write soon.

XOXO,

Mary Rose

MY GEOFF, MY BEAUTIFUL, MYSTICAL GEOFF,

If only you could actually be here, pretending to ignore me when I know you need me to say what I am saying—right down to repeating your name a few times to pretend that I think you're not listening.

I like to say your name. Geoff. Sometimes when you're not here I'll say it, and hope that just saying it will make you think of me wherever you are.

Isn't this crazy? I'm writing you a fucking letter. Isn't that sad, Geoff? I LOVE YOU. There, could you hear that? No, you couldn't hear that, Geoff, because you're not here.

Shit, it's already four a.m. I wonder if you're still awake. Sometimes when I'm in lockup I stay up and listen to the bugs making noise, or pretend I have someone here (usually you) to talk to. And sometimes I just pretend I'm an actress and that I'm only in here so I can act it better for my next movie or play.

Might sound dumb, but they make us go to bed at 8:30, so I get REAL bored REAL fast. And sometimes I have to go like an hour earlier because I wouldn't clean the cum off the toilet, or wash trays or be quiet when we lined up for something. Yep, so I have lots of time to think about what other people are doing (like breaking into my house and getting fucked up without me).

Fuck those crackheads. I've got Traci. And my mom.

Actually I don't really care about friends when you and I were spending a lot of time to get her (well, not a lot, but more than just me begging you to come over at like 2:30 a.m. so you could leave in like an hour and a half). Remember the first summer we met I'd see you from like lunchtime until we got arrested (or went home)? That was a good summer. I saw you a lot then. And I still remember everything from when we first met.

Damn, Geoff, I could write a book. I can't believe that was like two years ago.

When I concentrate I feel like it's still happening. Or it feels like it was all just some dream.

I'm sorry all I'm doing is bitching—but all of it's true. My next letter will be more cheery, okay? I just really want you to know that I love you, and that I miss you terribly. Please take care of yourself. Please stay how you are. I love you forever. FOREVER. NO MATTER WHAT.

Love forever,

Mary Rose