Zentangles Sasha Reeder

A letter for the girl at the grocery

Emily Zou

I don’t usually stalk random girls. I mean, that’s not the right way to put it. I guess you could say I was following you for a bit. It was out of my character and it was an immoral thing to do. Yet, when I saw you, walking down the street from your apartment on Sinclair Bridge, in the exact same complex I used to live in, I couldn’t help but follow you.

You’re popular at school, cheer captain and whatnot. Remember when you won Prom Queen junior year with Jon McKenny? I do. You know, we were actually in the same class multiple times! In sophomore year, I sat behind you in Biology, yet I still don’t think you know my name. It’s okay though! It was probably since I was the quiet kid. Well, I’ve always been the quiet kid.

Anyway, I couldn’t have been trailing for more than three minutes when you headed into the grocery store on Tamper Avenue. I didn’t know you shopped here… I thought everyone goes to the one downtown, but I can see why you like this one.

I think I started to question my decision when you stumbled across the same aisle I went to. I pretended to look at the cereal boxes which I didn’t need, of course. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I took a couple of glances at you. You’re really pretty from what I can tell, flawless skin, a cute set of dimples, ginger-cinnamon colored hair, and ocean blue eyes. I could go on, but I’m sure you already know yourself. After all, I’m just a distant observer.

I tried to talk to you. I was too shy, however, so I tapped you on the shoulder instead.

That’s one of my weaknesses, you know, being shy. I can never tell people what I’m feeling inside. That’s why I wrote this letter so that maybe you would know.

“After all, I’m just a distant observer.”

Here’s what I recorded of our brief dialogue. Or what I can still recall.

“Hi.” “Is there something you…?” “No.” “Oh, okay... you come here often?” “Not really.” “I’m Rachel.” “I know.” “Great, um…It was nice meeting you.”

And like that, you left, and I was too tired to follow. I think I stayed in the store for a good two hours before the clerk got suspicious that I was trying to steal something, and I had to go home too.

You might think I’m really weird for detailing all of this as a stranger, and I’d agree. However, I don’t think I’m that much of a stranger. Once again, we go to school together, and I sat behind you in biology during sophomore year. You might also think that I have some crush on you. Well, I don’t.

The truth is, I want to know everything about you. I want to know how it feels to be like you. That probably wasn’t any better, but I’ll explain.

I’m guessing you don’t want to hear an entire novel about my life. It’d be pretty boring anyway. I’ll cut it to the chase: I’m depressed. I was diagnosed last year. I haven’t been myself for a very long time and I’m still not. There was a time where things got so bad that I couldn’t get up from bed in the morning and my parents had to drag me out. Since then, I’ve taken antidepressants regularly and I don’t feel like a shovel six feet underground anymore. I know that doesn’t give me an excuse to follow you around town, but I hope you’d at least understand why.

I don’t usually hate things because that’s out of my character, yet I hate living like this. I thought that because you were so popular, and pretty, and happy, I could learn something from you. Like how to live life freely. So, you’d bet it surprised me when you went to the grocery store on a Saturday evening. I assumed you would’ve preferred partying with your friends or visiting your boyfriend at college. It made you more approachable knowing you did normal human things like buying milk or a can of diced tomatoes or a family-sized bag of potato chips. I think that’s why I tried to talk to you. I wanted to tell you that I’m just like you.

If you see this and read this, I hope we could talk sometime in the future. We don’t even have to be friends or anything.

P.S. Is this the right address?

Have a nice life, Drew Goodman

Drew Goodman

Skimming through the letter, Rachel distastefully sighed to herself and without hesitation “I want to know everything threw the crumpled paper with handwriting so messy that it induced about you” anxiety into the recycling bin. “Who was it?” Her mother asked, dumbfounded.

“No one important.”

It was probably a prank letter. She got those a lot for some reason and they were usually from the boys at school. They always tried to scare her, she assumed. Besides, she didn’t know a Drew Goodman from anywhere or even remebered what happened at the grocery store today. Days for her flew by like a speeding jet. It was hard enough to get up in the morning, yet remember mundane things. “Oh okay. I’m going to sleep.” “Me too.” She lied in bed for a long time, mind too heavy to fall asleep. Sometimes, she wished she could have someone to talk to, a stranger even. They didn’t have to be friends or anything. She also wondered what it was like to be invisible at school and to live days without a care in the world. The thought comforted her, and she dozed off.