Can't Send Him This

All right. I have to put this somewhere, because I can't keep it locked up in my brain forever. It's like having a lead balloon cradled in my skull.
So here we go.

Dear Red Shirt,

I guess at this point there's no way in hell I'll even see your face again, because the pictures of you on my phone have long been deleted. Even so, I'm having a hard time erasing you from my mind... as much as that sounds like a heartbroken country ballad. Like always, I'm not that much of a sleuth. I haven't changed, although I hope that you have. I hope you've forgotten my face as much as I would like to forget yours.

Well, let's cut right to the chase with this. I don't like beating around the bush with these kinds of things, so I'd prefer to come right out and say it.

Fuck you.
No, seriously. I really mean that. I'm sorry that you had to stroll into my life, I'm sorry I ever ran into you. I'm sorry I was wearing that stupid shirt with the stupid neckline that tricked you into thinking something that was wrong. I'm sorry I even let you think that. I should have stopped your thinking the moment you opened your mouth and started talking. I should have mentioned even just a portion of what was real. But I didn't, like an idiot, so I apologize.

That day in the parking lot had to happen. For me. For you, you probably could have been perfectly happy to have never known the truth. Staying blind would have been so much more comfortable, wouldn't it? I apologize for disrupting your comfortable world, all right? I'M SORRY. But if it hadn't happened, I'd probably be hanging off the top of a building right now.

Oh, wait.

You're not allowed to take me seriously now, because I'm a young girl, I'm going into high school, I'm angry and pubescent. You're not allowed to see me as an equal human being any more, just because I am a certain age, I am educated in a certain method, and therefore I am not worthy of your time or thought. Hell, if you DID pay any attention to my existence, that would classify you as a dope or possibly a pedophile, and we couldn't have that, now, could we?

I'm not a fool. Yes, I'm fourteen years old and I'm still learning about the world, but I am no fool.

(About that memoir. May I quote you? I believe you said this before I took your blindfold off for you - and you know what I mean by that.

"But the author was a bit full of herself and self-obsessed. But, yes, I know that's how all 15 year olds are."

Look, buddy. Yes, she was self-obsessed, she was thinking only of her own problems. But that's what it takes. Everyone has to go through that shit in order to become a justified human being. It's the growth process, you douche bag. You can't become an adult without it.

It's honest. It's written for a teenage audience, not 30-somethings who are looking back on how ridiculous they were in high school. Fourteen year olds are ridiculous sometimes, and they don't want to read a dried up thirty something's version of high school, they want honesty, they want ridiculousness, they want what's really going on.)

I'm prideful, I'm blinded, I'm self-centered, I'm indulgent and cliche and typical.

And you're not?

You're the one who bloody followed me down the fucking hallway.

No, you're not allowed to listen to what I say, because my words don't mean a thing, do they? I'm too stupid to know any better, because of my fucking age. Is that it? I'm just not good enough for you, no matter what I do. No matter how hard I try to become a better and more respectable person for this world to contain, I'll never be good in your eyes, because I'm young, and more specifically, I'm what it means to be young.

Well, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasted your time, I'm sorry you regret ever having known me, I'm sorry I humiliated you by being who I really am.

And even though I think you could redeem yourself, I'm not going to let you have that chance. After all, you didn't give it to me. I'm just fourteen - I don't need that, do I? I probably wouldn't understand what it means, anyway.