Dear Aaron

by Mariana Zapata

I think you should try to date someone. Multiple someones. You have a lot of things to make up for.

AHall80: I heard this joke that made me think of you RubyMars: Share it. AHall80: What do cows like to read? RubyMars: There are already tears in my eyes AHall80: Cattle logs RubyMars: You are a treasure I will value every day for the rest of my life.

If there was one thing I’d learned over the last few years, it was that just because you cared about someone, and just because they made it seem like they cared about you too, didn’t really mean a single thing at the end of the day.

I was a chicken. This was my truth. I wasn’t afraid to admit it. It was me. Ruby Marisol Santos was a certified, grade-A chicken. Not even the good kind of chicken that was grass fed and antibiotic-free because I’d been on antibiotics a few months ago. I was the worst kind of freaking chicken.

“I think I want to wake up every day and watch this,” I whispered to him, pulling my knees into my chest so I could settle my chin on top of them. “It would be worth waking up early for.” And all Aaron said, in his low, soft-spoken voice that he’d been using on me since yesterday, with something in the notes I couldn’t classify that sounded almost like hope, if hope had a sound and if a promise could be made without vocalizing it, was, “Any morning you want, Rube. I’ll watch it with you.”

“The idea of you being with somebody else… even just texting them… him… even before I saw your face or heard your voice, Rube… I don’t want you with anybody else. You’re my Ruby, and you have been for a long time.”