This is not a book review. This is simply a letter to my friend, obviously do not read it if you are only interested in books. Otherwise, feel free this is a public site, and a public post, and my friend will never read it anyway. TW: I will discuss the suicides that have happened in the books I’ve finished.
Things have been coming up again and again. It’s making me wonder if I think about it more than usual or if it is simply everywhere and there won’t ever be a way to avoid it. You may be wondering, ‘Lauren, what are you talking about? You’re up way past your bedtime and there are no strange occurrences that appear any more often than others.’ and that would be a fair question for you to have. I am up past my bedtime, but that’s okay, it’s been awhile since I have written to you and it’s overdue.
First it was Leonard Peacock. I am so glad he didn’t die. I am glad he had a Herr Silverman to save him, unlike Finch, unlike Les, unlike you. Four years has gone by fast and I have to say I wonder how you’d feel about graduating. I’m sure you’d be just as excited as the rest of us to get out and start creating our own lives, would you still want to be a journalism major? Anyway, back to my books, Theodore Finch broke my heart yesterday around noon. When they dragged him out of the river I wondered what it would be like to have to find the body of someone you love like that. It made me miss you more and remember your family. The reason I’m writing a letter to you now instead of yesterday, or last week, or 10 months or two years ago is because of many things: I can’t sleep, the book I chose to help me sleep featured a suicide in the first two chapters, and my sister lost a classmate today.
I feel so bad for my sister because I remember being the exact same age as she is, almost around this same time of year, hearing about you. I remember being in that situation. When she talked about today, about the crying teachers and the silent hallways, I felt like I was an eighth grader again right back in the middle school. The kid that died today, or yesterday night, didn’t take his own life, but that doesn’t make it any less sad. 13 is too young to die, it was too young for him and too young for you. I don’t know what to say to my sister other than that I love her. I remember exactly how it feels to sit in the gym and be told your friend isn’t coming back to school. It isn’t an easy thing for a young person to deal with.
Thanks for listening, friend. It’s been too long, four years too long since we’ve had a conversation. Maybe I’ll write again soon. I just thought it was about time I let you know that I am thinking about you. This wasn’t a very structured letter, but you’ll probably forgive me since you’ve never been in high school English. I’m not writing to make you feel bad, it’s been four years and I still haven’t hit the anger stage of grief, I’m writing to let you know what you left behind. I don’t think you realized what was going to happen. I think you did what you thought was best, but you were an eighth grader and eighth graders are nearly always wrong. I think you’d love high school, I think you’d like prom, and graduation, and Writing 116. I’m sorry that you didn’t choose to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune because I think you’d be surprised.