Dear Evan Hansen

by Val Emmich

If the pain is in you, it’s in you. It follows you everywhere. Can’t outrun it. Can’t erase it. Can’t push it away; it only comes back. The way I’ve been thinking, after all that’s happened, maybe there’s only one way to survive it. You have to let it in. Let it hurt you. And don’t wait. It’ll reach you eventually. Might as well be now.

Own it, I say. I wasn’t able to. You hear me? Evan? That’s what you do.

You get up. And you own it.

Fuck ’em, he’d always say. Maybe I misunderstood him all those times before. Maybe he wasn’t taking my side against the world. Maybe that was just his motto with everyone. Everyone but himself. Fuck ’em. Yeah. OK. Fuck him.

Maybe, someday, some other kid is going to be standing here, staring out at the trees, feeling alone, wondering if maybe the world might look different from all the way up there. Better. Maybe he’ll start climbing, one branch at a time, and he’ll keep going, even when it seems like he can’t find another foothold. Even when it feels hopeless. Like everything is telling him to let go. Maybe this time he won’t let go. This time he’ll hold on. He’ll keep going.