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Dear El,
Today passed in much the way days often do now—without incident, yet not without significance. I woke earlier than intended, aroused by the emptiness in my stomach. I, once again, have forgotten to eat dinner last night.
For a time, I remained on the bed, listening to the light murmur of the few vehicles passing my window, until my hunger crawled up my throat.
I spent the entirety of the day working, though “working” may be too generous a word. Like yesterday, I sat at my desk, revisiting the page I had rewritten so many times, I’m sure I have exhausted all the parallel universes my lead character could be in. Is that possible? How many parallel universes are there? I hope there is one where we’re together.
I have revised this part many times before, each return bringing less confidence than the last. So, here I am, writing you a letter. Holly said this is getting unhealthy. She said I should visit Dr. Rodriguez again, noting the new box on top of the stack I keep my letters in. I really should stop letting her crash here. The older she gets, the more she becomes Nancy.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be rational enough to drop by the clinic, but for now, I’ll revel in this—the comfort of the ritual, of talking to you.
I had not intended to think of you today, but I found myself circling back to the day we first met. It had been raining that night, like tonight. I remember how desperately we wanted to find Will, yet we found you—soaking wet, frozen scared—and never in any universe would I have left you there. No universe out there exists where our paths never crossed, I’m certain of it.
I miss you. Every day. I miss the way you said my name, like it was something you’d just discovered. The way we talked about futures that seemed endless, not because they truly were, but because we hadn’t yet learned how quickly time can run and run out. There are moments when I believe I remember you precisely. I hear your voice, assured and defiant, ready to fight even when you were tired. I see way your jaw tightens when you’re disagreeing, eyes focused and unblinking. I feel your hand in mine, firm, like you never want to let go. I don’t.
I don’t want to let you go. And yet I suspect these memories have been improved by repetition, made more considerate, more complete. How foolish was I to assume things would remain negotiable. To rely so confidently on the future, thinking time was a personal courtesy extended only to us.
I hope, deep in my heart, even after all these years, that you are in a beautiful land, somewhere far away, safe, at peace. I hope your own day allowed you moments of reflection, and that you were kinder than I am, to the memories that chose to visit you.
I hope you think of me.
Love,
Mike
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Dear El,
He’s done it again.
Today was Dustin’s graduation, and guess what happened? I’ll give you a clue: another graduation gown, ripped.
God, I can still remember the look on his dean’s face. It was hilarious. Epic. I think he’ll make it in tomorrow’s local paper, certainly already in the university gazette.
He graduated with honors—as expected. And again, he went off-script during his speech—as expected. The host and the faculty behind him were too surprised to stop his performance, watching dumbfounded as he ripped his toga off, showing off his Hellfire shirt. The crowd cheered, following his lead in flinging their caps into the air.
Apparently, our dear Dustin had restarted Hellfire Club on campus, which attracted a considerable number of members.
Additionally, he would show off his inventions at any given chance, earning him a solid group of tech and engineering enthusiasts. It also helped that he was in basically every nerd club on campus: physics, robotics, AV, board games, and the list goes on. I always wondered how he managed to juggle all that while doing double majors and not missing any holidays at home.
His eyes shone not with pride, but also a hint of astonishment, as though still half-surprised that he had arrived at this point in life. I have to admit, it is sometimes hard to believe we’ve reached this age. Multiple times in our lives, we really did think we were goners. That only made moments like times more treasurable, right?
After the ceremony, we went to dine with him and his mom. We plan to stay the whole weekend—me, Lucas, and Will. Max couldn’t make it, as the internship kept her too busy.
Dustin kept his Hellfire on, and as we walked back to his apartment, cheers and fist bombs were offered to him. People loved him in this place; no wonder he chose to stay. He’ll be starting his graduate studies while working as a researcher at the university. I guess that’s expected too.
He’s setting the table now for the actual party. Just the four of us, like old times. And D&D, of course. We’re older now in ways beyond age and appearance, but we lingered on memories as much as on conversation. I suppose it’s hard not to be sentimental after going through what we went through.
Well, that will be all for now. I’ll have to attend to my post as the storyteller. I’ve missed this setup. And you.
Yours truly,
Mike
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Dear Eleven,
This will be brief, for I am already dizzy from the immense amount of alcohol I have consumed tonight. Truth be told, I could barely walk a straight line, what more write? So, forgive me if this will be a little messier than usual. But I wanted to write to you today. Such a special day it is.
Another year has passed. I wish you were here with me.
Will hosted the New Year’s Eve Party this time. He moved into a new apartment recently, so it is my first time being here. His place is much bigger now. And brighter during the day compared to his last apartment. He was so enthusiastic, showing off his drawing nook by the huge window where he could get all the natural lighting.
Despite the party dying down a couple of hours ago, the house is still bright from the warm yellow glow of lights outside, and the air still smells faintly of pine and boiling cider. Outside, the snow had been nonstop. Will was rushing everyone in as they came, pouring drinks and making small talk with a grace that, I have to admit, surprised me.
It’s a double celebration. Will opened his exhibition tonight at one of the popular galleries in the city. That was first on our itinerary. It was quite in demand, with a number of significant names in the local art scene present. There was even an art magazine interviewing him earlier. Our dear Will is getting known as he deserves.
We went straight to his place after the exhibition—me, Lucas, and Max, and some of his new friends and acquaintances. Jonathan, Steve, and Nancy were at the gallery but had to leave early. Dustin couldn’t make it. Something about surveillance at the lab, I’m not really sure. I’ll ask about it later.
I spent much of the night catching up with Lucas and Max. They finally adopted the stray kitten that was camping on their porch. Around us, chatter and laughter filled the house, the majority of it from unfamiliar voices. I didn’t mind, though. In fact, it loaded me with pride. Will the Wise have acquired so many friends, attracting them with a charm completely his own. He was flitting around, chatting up to his guest, but came back to the corner we claimed, making sure we wouldn’t feel forgotten. A butterfly tending to all the flowers in the garden.
Come midnight, Will clinked his glass, and everyone cheered as we started to count down. The room shook with the happiness of those present.
I was one with the crowd, and I imagined you were too. That, among the cacophony of cheers, your voice mixes with everyone.
Even after the fireworks concluded outside, the laughter carried on inside. Warm and unstoppable. Like you were. I realized, joy and sorrow, for some reason, are never separate but always folded together, one soft layer over the other. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend you were here. Somewhere among the groups of giddy people, sharing your week with a stranger who will later become a friend, drinking and laughing. Maybe dancing too. So full of life. So full of love.
Life, I realized, will continue to insist on moving forward, even when hearts are still clinging to the past. I will continue to move forward while keeping you in my heart.
Yours, this year and in the years to follow,
Mike
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Dear El,
I just had the busiest week in years. Busier than publishing week. Hell, busier than tour week. But I found myself buzzing with energy, still. If only you were here.
The wedding took place late this afternoon, at a small garden venue on the edge of Hawkins. Despite moving away long ago, they’ve decided to have the wedding here, close to family and some friends. Also, you know those two. They can be sickeningly romantic sometimes. They said it was just appropriate to have it where they first met.
The garden was beautiful. The grass was carefully trimmed, but not obsessively so. The chairs had been lined carefully, parted by the carpeted aisle, and adorned with flower arrangements of pinks and whites. The ceremony area was surrounded by greenery, so it almost felt as if you were in the middle of the forest, except this forest was welcoming. Not like the forest we knew.
If not for the wedding, I wouldn’t know there was a place like that here, though the caretaker claimed it had been here for fifty years. Somehow, it was untouched by all the sickness inflicted on this town. The kind of place that looked as though it had been borrowed from someone else’s life. I fit perfectly with the town now.
A lot has changed since you were last here.
I arrived early, as per Max’s orders. She wanted to make sure everything was perfect, telling me to tell her in detail how the venue looked. So, I spent a whole hour scanning the place and describing on the phone, in detail, everything in front of me. By the time the other guests started showing up, I had spent a considerable time at the drinks table, listening to the soft clinking of glasses and the sound of wind moving through trees.
As I’ve told you last time, that wasn’t the only questionable thing she had made me do. Since they announced the wedding date, she had called me multiple times, sounding nervous and concerned about wedding plans. She had gone more agitated as the wedding approached.
I guess it was the wedding jitters. Mom said so, too, teasing me for being the bridesmaid. Robin, Nance, and Max’s friend from college were the bridesmaids, though Max said you would have been her maid of honor. Maybe that’s why she had me running around doing wedding errands. Maybe she had lumped us into one person, and it was you, her best friend, that she wanted assistance from in this crucial moment. If that was the case, then I guess I’m fine being her errand boy. Then she should have invited me to the bachelorette party, right? I’m kidding.
Lucas’ side of the story was almost identical, calling either Dustin, Will, or me almost every night to ask whether dusty pink or pale yellow was his color. His bachelor’s party was mostly fun. Some of his friends from college and work, and us, of course, went out for a drink, though the party ended with just the four of us—me, Lucas, Will, and Dustin—playing D&D just like the old times.
Moments like that never failed to remind me of everything that we’ve been through. The triumph, the pain, the laughter and cries, all the bruises we’ve acquired. A cruel reminder of the suffering, but concrete evidence of strength. If not for that, we wouldn’t have found you. We wouldn’t have met Max. You two were the best of us.
Panicking only showed how eager both were to have the perfect wedding. And perfect it was. They picked the perfect time for the ceremony. Sunlight drifted down through tall trees, softened by leaves that tremble just enough to scatter the light into pale gold. Max glowed as she walked the aisle. Dustin was convinced she would wear roller blades down the aisle, and that would have been perfect, too, I could tell.
I knew, despite all the heated arguments over tableware and the nervous calls about necktie color and dessert table inclusions, the knight and the zoomer would never be separated. Their love grew stronger day by day, much stronger now, as they forged their love for each other, pledged their heart and fortified their bond.
As they exchanged vows, they spoke clearly, but softly. There was no trembling, no visible hesitation. As if the earlier panic was merely an imagination. Never have I seen them so sure. Still, I sensed the awareness that what they were doing could not be reversed, and that this irreversibility was precisely the point.
You would have loved to witness them.
Watching them, I felt a strange tightening in my chest. Sadness pinched me through the layers of joy and celebration. I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if it were you walking in the aisle and me waiting for you at the altar.
You would have looked fantastic in a wedding gown, and I would be a crying mess, in awe of your beauty. Jonathan would catch it all on film, and I would be the butt of the joke for years and years to come. But I don’t mind being a laughingstock if that meant I’d be with you till death do we part.
Is it unfair that I am thinking of you during their special day? I hope Lucas and Max wouldn’t mind. I hope you won’t mind. Please allow me the liberty to dream of you tonight.
Yours forever,
Mike
P.S. I’m including a picture of them with everyone in case you'd like to see.
P.S.S. You would have looked stunning in the bridesmaid dress.
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Dear El,
Am I an asshole?
I had not intended to go out this morning, yet something propelled me forward, as though the city itself were urging me to explore. Perhaps the delicate suggestion of spring sunlight that licked my window, or the too-familiar smell of the coffee at the breakfast buffet. I had been staying here for two weeks, yet all I’ve done is go back and forth from the publishing house to the hotel.
I suppose the city tour was long overdue. Without any plan and a couple of hours to spare, I went out to the damp pavements from last night’s shower. Outside, I let the other pedestrians carry me forward, following the faint, elusive aroma of coffee drifting from some unseen corner. I found the source after a few minutes. A quaint café at the corner of the street. It was there, amid the clatter of footsteps and the murmur of passersby, that I saw him, fixing the chalkboard sign outside.
I hadn’t recognized him at first; perhaps he, too, felt the same, the realization hitting us after a minute of mutual staring.
He said my name first, and only then did I confirm. It was James. From middle school. Troy’s friend. He approached with the easy smile of a man who has, in adulthood, learned the art of affability. The same boy who had tormented us in the corridors of our school, who had watched as his friend taunted me to jump off a cliff. Yet now, he radiated a warmth that seemed almost deliberate. It unsettled me how unfamiliar it was.
Inviting me in, he introduced me to his wife, who was manning the register. They owned the café. She, the barista, and he, the baker. A quick peck on her forehead, and he disappeared into the kitchen. Seeing him in this light, surrounded by the lively city and battered by the sweet essence of pastry, was dislocating. I found myself staring at the spot he vacated, only returning to my consciousness when his wife cleared her throat.
I managed to order despite my disorientation and sat at the stool facing away from the register. A croissant was placed in front of me after a few minutes. On the house, he said.
We spoke, tentatively, of trivialities. Weather first, then catching each other up on how we both got here in this city. His laugh bore no trace of the boyish malice I had once endured, and I tried my best to match his enthusiasm. Much to my surprise, he apologized. Recalling the weirdness in Hawkins, he said he was glad we both managed to move forward.
He asked about the guys, and I told them where they are now. Then, he asked about you. The bald girl, he said. I was fine until then. Because it hit me—he was right, we were lucky to move forward, but you did not.
You’re still there. Or not there. Somewhere, but not here. I felt the sharp edge of absence at the mention of you. You, whose presence made it possible for us to move forward.
I watched through the glass window as he laughed with his wife, squeezing her hand with familiarity. They looked good together, a perfect match, as he put it.
How unfair. How unfair is the world to let someone like him redeem himself and live a fulfilled life as if he were never an accessory to our torment? How unfair is the world to let him have the love of his life by his side when you’re not here with me? What good did he do to deserve all this? What mistake did we make?
I’m so angry. I’m so mad that people get to live a good life, but not us. Not after all the pain we’ve been through. Not after all the sacrifices. The encounter had only deepened my awareness of the irrevocable. I ache to see you again. To hold you. To laugh with you.
Am I wrong to not be happy for him? I’m just so angry. I’ll get over it, or maybe not.
Maybe I’ll accept his invitation to drink later, maybe not.
Yours truly, though still annoyed,
Mike
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Dear Eleven,
I want to start by apologizing to you. I like to assume that you want me to pursue my happiness, as almost everyone has insisted, though frankly, I find that a little offensive that they think I’m unhappy and that they think you can’t be my happiness.
I’m writing to you because yesterday, I learned something about myself that I wish I hadn’t had to learn without you.
I am currently out of the country, as you know from the previous letter I wrote, but I did not tell you everything there. The convention ended two days ago, yet I decided to extend my stay.
I met someone. I’ve known her for a while now. She’s a novelist under my previous publishing house, though I didn’t meet her there.
It was at an awards night a few years back where our paths first crossed. I’ve heard about her before that, though, her debut novel being one of the most phenomenal novels of her genre that year. Indeed, she was brilliant. Both of us won an award that year.
There was an after-party, the kind my manager always forced me to go to because it’s good press and connections require effort. For me, it was just another business trip. Meetings and hotel rooms and the quiet loneliness I’ve learned to carry well.
The party was buzzing with energy, almost everyone chatting and mingling. She sat beside me at the bar because there were no other seats, exchanged a courteous greeting, then nothing else.
We met a couple of months after that. Finally, have a proper chat. It surprised me how easy the conversation flowed. We talked about her work, then mine, then about common acquaintances. She laughed in a way that didn’t demand anything from me. She asked thoughtful questions.
It took another year before our paths crossed once more, and just like the last time, talking with her was easy. When she listened, she actually listened. After a few more chance meetings at conventions, awards nights, readings, and other events, we became friends. I found myself checking guest lists to know if we would be attending the same events. I started looking forward to seeing her.
I hadn’t thought much about it. After all, she wasn’t the first friend I made that way. But, I suppose, relationships like that are hard to maintain as is. Emotions have their own way of creeping up on you, though perhaps I’ve been aware of the undercurrent, just too cowardly to recognize it.
I didn’t tell you—or anyone for that matter—because I didn’t think it was a big deal. And really, it wasn’t. Until the last day of the convention, when we were having drinks, she was telling me about some idea that came to her in a dream, and she was so excited, so enthusiastic, so genuine. Her eyes glowed when she looked at me, and I remember thinking, briefly, that maybe this is how it begins again. For people who survive.
We went out the next night. Dinner, then a walk through the park. I’ve been in this country before, but never at that part, never at that hour. It was beautiful. All the lights reflected on the water, the birds singing their lullabies.
Then I thought, you would have loved to be here. It hit me, that moment, that I hadn’t thought of you the whole night. I had not felt so alone for so long until that moment. The thought of not having you in my mind—the only place where I could be with you—was so isolating. So lonely.
She touched my arm as she ushered me forward, still complimenting the landscape ahead of us. She sounded perpetually hopeful, and I wanted to run away and scream. Because the moment you returned to me, you never left.
The way the light caught her face reminded me of the times you have to fight in the dark. The sound of her voice reminded me of how deeply I still know yours. Every small moment with her opened a door to you, and I realized I wasn’t walking forward. I was circling a memory.
I knew it wasn’t right. It was unfair to her. She deserved more than divided attention. It was unfair to you. I pledged my heart to you time and time again. Friends don’t lie, right?
She is a beautiful woman, brilliant and vibrant. She deserves nothing less than to be loved fully. And I knew that I couldn’t do that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I want you to know I didn’t cut her off because she wasn’t enough. I cut her off because you still are. You will always be.
If there’s something like forgiveness where you are, then please forgive me. Not for trying to live, but for choosing not to let go. Leaving you doesn’t mean living, for in me, you will forever live.
I miss you in ways that don’t lessen. You keep my heart beating.
Always,
Mike
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Dear Eleven,
Tonight was the kind of evening that made you want to slow down and notice everything: the sun dipping low, the melted soap on the edge of the tub, the faint smell of magnolia drifting through the open windows.
You won’t believe where I’m writing this letter.
The day unfolded ordinarily enough. Work in the morning, lunch with mom and Holly, and a walk in the afternoon.
I realized something today, you see, as I was passing by the park. I don’t know what triggered it, but the realization tore me apart. That time—the first time. I wouldn’t have told you I loved you if I weren’t about to lose you. But I do, El, I love you still. So much. You have no idea.
So, I thought I’d tell you again.
Ever since I met you, everything changed. You turned my world upside down. But you’re not here at all, and I can’t help feeling distant from you, yet so connected. You have a hold on me. Are you doing it with your mind?
There are times when I want to move on. There are times when I imagine myself moving away from this town, finding another place to settle in and call my home, meeting someone I can share the rest of my life with. Then, there are times like this, when I fill the tub with water and settle down, clothes be damned.
I remember the last time we spoke, after you pulled me into your mind. My hands had been damp, and that was how I knew. Sometimes, I find myself in here, feeling the water in my skin, passed layers of clothes, and I can pretend we’re connected again. Somehow.
Sometimes I feel refreshed, renewed. Sometimes—this time—I feel pathetic. Sometimes I hate you for leaving me like this. Because sometimes, I imagine myself moving away from this town, finding another place to settle in and call my home, and that home is empty. Sometimes I imagine myself meeting someone I can share the rest of my life with, but it’s your face on theirs. It’s always you El. Just you.
Why can’t I let you go? Why won’t you let me go? Why can’t I let myself go? Is it telekinesis?
I’m not the hero you think I am. I’m just a man. I’m just some nerd who fell in love with you at first sight. Is it bad if that’s all I want to be? I’m scared that it is. I’m scared that if I let you go, you’ll finally drift away from this world. Away from me. But I need you. And I love you. And I’ll always be here, like I told you I’d be. No matter what.
Not all those who survived move forward, Eleven. I’m stuck. Take me away.
Yours forever,
Mike
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Dear Mike,
I am writing this letter to let you know how I really feel, though I have a feeling you already do.
Sometimes, I think it’s scary to open up like this. It’s terrifying to be honest about who you are or how you feel. But things have changed now, and so have I. Time really does heal.
I found myself outside of Hawkins, but there will always be remnants of me in it, and it in me. I always thought it would be you. After all, you chose to stay. I started associating Hawkins with you and the happy moments. So, I was so angry when you left, when you chose to let go.
You left us, Mike. You left everyone. You left everything. You were so selfish. So self-absorbed. You’re not the only one who suffered. You’re not the only one who lost someone special. She was our friend too. She was the only one who really understood, who had suffered the same predicament of fighting him in his mind. We needed her, too, Mike. We needed you, too, El.
I still have nightmares of all the horrifying things that happened back then. For years, I had trouble sleeping at the fear of seeing him as I closed my eyes. Sometimes, I have trouble waking up, my body rigid, chest heavy in a false awakening, and I’d think he’s back, he found me again.
Times like that, I would call Max for comfort. I guess that’s what made us different. I have someone to tell my troubles to. I have Mom and Jonathan, and Max. Max and Lucas have each other. Dustin has Steve. You have us, Mike, if only you let us in. Another thing that set us apart, I guess. We let people in. I let people see me for who I am. You closed off after she disappeared. This past year, I’ve wondered if we just didn’t try hard enough. If only we pried you open. If only you had tried harder to fight.
But then, I found your letters to her, and I realized that you did try.
There was a reason why you’re always first to show up at all my exhibitions, first to confirm in every party, first to come in every occasion, first to greet for every birthday, every holiday, every win, first to volunteer to help. I get it now why Steve made you the godfather of all his children. You’ve always been the best gift-giver among us.
You fought every day, and you’ve used up all your energy. The end is inevitable.
This year hadn’t been nice to me, but I guess all those years hadn’t been to you. Grief takes hold of us differently. I know now that now.
We bought your house. Remember how Dusting joked about it being a great vacation house? Well, we all pitched in to purchase it and made it into one. We kept your stuff, that’s how I found these in boxes in your study. I didn’t read them all, how could I? There were so many. I did pluck one from every box randomly, so I’m pretty sure I messed up the timeline.
I’ve always known you were the sentimental one. I thought I’d give your letter thing a shot.
Back here in Hawkins, I feel everywhere and nowhere. Both of you. Your presence folded into the ordinary rhythm of the town. It had been a year since your death, yet I had somehow postponed the acknowledgment of it, carrying the idea of you delicately. I had gone about my days, speaking your name quietly in my mind, but never aloud. Never truly confronting the hollowness that your absence had carved in the already tattered fabric of my life.
I came here in an attempt to understand. To confront you. To tell you how much pain you put us through, only to be confronted with your pain. The year that had passed seemed suddenly to condense, to press upon me with the weight of a decade, and I realized that death does not always arrive with abrupt clarity, but sometimes creeps softly. It lingers in the corners of our minds until we can no longer avoid it. I choose not to avoid it.
Your pain does not dampen mine. It doesn’t make anything better. Your death has brought so much grief, but thinking about it now, I can’t help but feel relieved. Finally, you are rested.
I’m thankful for the clarity. I’m thankful for you, Mike. I’m thankful for El. I’m thankful for all the memories we shared.
Dear El, you are one of the best things that has happened to me. I couldn’t imagine how my life would be if you weren’t in there. I’m writing this in the same letter because I know that you two are finally together.
But this will be the last letter I will write to you, and to him. I do apologize for that. Because if there’s anything that I learned in this life, it is that letting go does not mean forgetting.
Sometimes, the best thing you can do is keep going. For you. For the ones you love and have loved.
I hope you two wait for us. It will be a long time, but we will join you, and we can play and chat and laugh again.
Till then,
Will