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Dearest (A letter to Lockjaw)

by Angela Thomas

Dearest Lockjaw,

It's one of those mornings when it first starts getting cold and you realize just how warm your bed is, even when it is alone. And, Lockjaw, I think I like things this way. I mean, it's not so bad to fall asleep to the soft whisper of promises from some guy trying to sell something on TV, at least this way, the only thing I'd ever have to pay for his goods is money. There are worse ways to fall asleep.

My baby pillow, which, yes, I do still sleep with, but don't still need, smells like him. I can close my eyes, bury my face in it, and pretend that he's in bed with me, and the guy with the grill that cooks food in seconds isn't on the TV, it's ESPN, and we're watching the highlights, and he hears his name. Lockjaw, I miss him.

My cat has been very clingy lately and I think he's getting to a place where he might be ready to leave this world. I need to take him to the vet, but at the same time, I'm fighting myself because, it it is his time, don't I just want to let him go naturally, in his sleep or whatever? I wouldn't want someone dragging me to the doctor, just to confirm that I'm about to die. Oh, Lockjaw, my kitty is sick.

I need to go enter the real world in less about 8 months. I'm going to have to move to NYC, Lockjaw, apply everywhere in the world and hopefully win a job. Then, I'm going to have to go in day after day and work. I won't know anyone, I won't have anything, but I'll be doing it. And soon, Lockjaw, I'll be 21, so there won't even be any more questions to ask. I'll have full access to everything the world's got for me, barring rental cars, but still.

Well, that just about does it for my life. Thanks for always listening, Lockjaw, you're something else.

Everything,
Angela

11/05/2004

Posted on 11/05/2004
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas

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