Dear Ana

by I.I.E.

Yes, you saved my life. But you saved my life when I didn’t want it to be saved.

I glanced at him when he didn’t respond, and Noah was smiling brightly. “What?” I demanded. “You called me your friend.”

“You’re pretty,” he pressed on. “Effortlessly, painlessly, fluently pretty.”

“And sometimes, Noah . . . sometimes I really, truly, desperately, with everything I am and everything I have, don’t want to be me anymore. I don’t want to exist anymore.” I let out an unsteady breath. “I’d give anything to know what it’s like to wake up and feel rested. To wake up and not think again? I have to do this all again? To wake up and not have to walk on eggshells around my own mind. To wake up and feel like I’m not just surviving, but living.”

“I’m not pushing you away because I want to, Noah. I guess I just don’t want to see the day when you finally look at me––and I mean really look at me––and realize how exhausted I make you too. I know you think you’ve got me all figured out, but I’m not the girl you get to know as more than a friend. I am the damaged and emotionally unstable girl that will drain you with all her endless problems until you can’t take it anymore and leave.”

“Thank you for giving me the moments that you did. I’m not going to pressure you, but if you ever find yourself willing to try to make another choice . . . choose me. Try with me. I’ll be your stranger, or your acquaintance, or your friend . . . I’ll be your anything, Maya. I’ll wait, no matter how much you don’t want me to. And if this isn’t something you end up wanting . . .” He looked at me sadly. “I hope you can heal from the things that are silently tearing you apart. I hope you can find happiness.”

“So, let me get this straight. You get to take care of everything and everyone . . . and then what? Who takes care of you?” “I do,” I said firmly, my chin tilting up in defense. “Bullshit.” “Excuse me?”

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” “See you like what?” I asked, confused. “See you sad?” “No,” he scoffed. “See me angry. I’m not sad that my piece of shit father died, I’m fucking pissed.” “Then be angry. I don’t understand why I need to leave––” “Do you think I don’t notice every time you flinch?”

“So . . . if you’re better than okay, why did you call?” He was silent for a moment before speaking softly, a gentle caress against my ear. “You told me that I could.” Someone finally chose me.

“I wanted to get you flowers, as they’re a first date rite of passage, but I didn’t want to get you real ones because I knew they would eventually die.” I looked up at him and he was staring at me intensely. “I don’t want what we have to ever die, Maya.”

“Just because you’re easily pleased, doesn’t mean you deserve anything less than everything.”

“It was me,” he said quickly, interrupting me. “What?” “Ana wasn’t a registered organ donor,” he explained. “I was listed under her emergency contact and as her POA, so when they came in and told us that . . . you were dying.” He paused, grimacing. “I told them to give you her heart, Maya. I told them to save you.” I told them to save you.

“Don’t you know, Maya?” he asked gently. “Don’t you know that there isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for you?”

“Did you know that whales don’t die of old age?” I asked. “They don’t?” “No. Eventually, they get tired of swimming back up for air, so they drown themselves,” I said quietly. “I don’t know how to swim, Noah. I don’t know how to swim, and I’m tired of trying to struggle back up for air. I’m so fucking tired.”

“What do you need, Maya? Let me help you, please.” “I need it to stop.” “You need what to stop?” “I need everything to stop,” I told him, a sob finally breaking through my clogged chest. He wrapped his arms around me securely. “I know you’re in pain and I know you’re tired of fighting. I know you tried so many times but I need you to try again, okay?” “I don’t know how.”

“How, Noah? How do I move on––just like that––without getting anything positive from it? Something meaningful or valid that I can wear as a gold badge of honor to prove my heroic escape from the bad guy?” “Why do you feel like you need to get something out of it to make it valid?” “Because,” I explained desperately. “Because if I just move on, then . . . none of it matters. None of my pain, or damage, or humiliation means anything. It’ll be as if it never happened and I just spent all my years being miserable for nothing.”

“You,” he said fiercely, “are not defined by the things that happened to you. You are defined by the things you made happen despite them.”

“I didn’t make anything happen––” “You happened. This world has given you every reason to be vile and cruel, but instead, you are kind. You show love to everyone whether or not they deserve it. You are so good and selfless, and I am in awe of how strong and compassionate you are. You are the positive thing that came out of your pain. Your heart is your gold badge of honor, Maya.”

I wasn’t choosing to float this time. I was choosing to learn how to swim.

You’re mine.” I raised my eyebrows. “Yours?” “Yes, mine,” he repeated firmly, narrowing his eyes. “And I am yours. Do you have a problem with that?” “I don’t know; I’ve never really belonged to anyone before.” “Then I’ll just have to be your first.” “And my last, Noah.”

“Obsessed much?” “Obsession is an understatement,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling my face. “My entire being aches for you in your absence. My heart beats your name against my chest with a heightened sense of desperation, and it can only be soothed by the tantalizing flavor of your presence in the air.”

“Maybe you can start with planting strawberries,” he suggests after a moment. “It’s my favorite kind of jam.”

You were my soulmate in this life, and you will be in every life that comes after. I’ll meet you on the other side my love, but until then . . . I’ll see you when I wake up at sunrise to say good morning, and then again as the sun sets when you say goodnight. Pinky Promise. –Forever, your Noah