Part 2: The Letter

1.

"Dearest Amy,

I know you hate me now, and I've lost the most important person in my life, but I must tell you that I never meant to hurt you. How could I, I'm in love with you. Leave it to me, your old pal Ronda, to fuck up a life long friendship. If I could take it back, I would. It's just that you seemed to like what I was doing and one thing just led to another.

I also realize that I made another dumb-ass mistake. I talked to Mrs. Langston, but I was hysterical, you know how I get. God, how could I have been so stupid. It seems I'm doing a lot of stupid things these days. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Please tell your parents that I love them, and will miss them too.

Sweet poison. I meant it when I said it. When I kissed your lips, I almost died right there on the spot. They are at least as addictive as any drug I could take and will kill me in the end, but I can't help it. I did try to talk to my mother about it, but it embarrassed her I think. All she could say was, I would get over it. I wish I had a mother like yours; she at least will listen to ya and take it seriously.

None of this, of course, is your fault, and I don't want you to think that I blame you for what I'm about to do. This is why I have left this note with you. I want you to read it first, to explain to you that it is NOT your fault. I am a lesbian. There I said it. I don't want to be, but I have known it for years. Your mother knows it, but I made her swear never to tell you. Like I said before, you have a great mother and she never made me feel like some sort of outcast or depraved animal. Now everyone will know, and I don't think I can face them.

By the time you read this, I will be dead. I'm so sorry that I put you through the humiliation of my advances and I'm also sorry to anyone else that my actions might hurt, my mother especially. Don't cry for me. I'm not afraid to die, and if there is a heaven, it will have a hell of a time competing with the pleasure I felt with you last night.

Goodbye, Sweet Poison, I will always love you.

Your friend,

Ronda."

Amy read the letter quickly at first, her eyes merely scanning and intuition replacing the written words with assumptions. It had started out as what she assumed it would be. An apology, and she would have accepted it. By the time she read the words "sweet poison," she made herself slow down and read every word. She changed her mind about quick forgiveness when she realized Ronda had talked with her mother—and neither had let her in on the secret.

All of her own feelings shattered into thousands of useless, fragmented thoughts; forgotten in an instant when she understood the meaning of the letter. Her skin oozed sweat and every muscle in her body became ready for whatever she would ask them to do, and her heart instantly doubled its pace when she flew off the bed.

The clothes from the night before that still lay in a small pile on the floor were on her body in the time-span of two breaths. Sockless feet were shoved into sneakers and halfway down the stairs in less time that it took to think, 'God, oh dear God, don't let me be too late!'

"MOM! CALL 911! SHE'S GOING TO KILL HERSELF!"

"WHAT? OH DEAR..."

Amy never heard her mother finish the sentence. She ran, and as she did, Amy of the past and Amy of the future began to fuse together into the one and only Amy of the now. She was "one," again.

A large crowed had formed in front of Ronda's house. She could see red flashes of light over their heads and realized that an ambulance and police cruiser were already there. Ronda's mother was at the top of the stairs to her front door; her hands covered her mouth and nose. Even from behind the crowd Amy could see that she was crying. Not just flowing tears, but twitching and jerking as she wept. Large red stains covered the front of her blouse.

A man and a woman dressed in uniforms with what Amy thought were medical patches on there sleeves, were lifting a body into the back of the ambulance. Someone beside her said, "Yeah, she's dead all right."

"NO," Amy shouted. "YOUR WRONG!"

Several people turned and stared at her, and they were mumbling words that she couldn't understand. Amy saw a face she recognized and pushed her way through the crowd.

"Mrs. Langston, is she okay—please tell me Ronda's okay," Amy asked with wide, hopeful eyes.

She turned, "Oh, it's you," she said with obvious distain. "I don't think so. I heard them say she's gone."

"No..." Amy said.

"What was that Amy?" Mrs. Langston asked.

But Amy couldn't answer. She slowly turned to walk away— and stopped. Big, floating, swirling spots appeared before her eyes and her heart seemed confused about what it was supposed to do; beating fast, and then slow with a hard thump. In the last few moments of consciousness, she thought it was strange that the sidewalk seemed to be rising up to her.

2.

Darkness was all around her. She was neither asleep nor awake, but she could think. 'Am I dead?' she thought. There was a distorted echo of a voice that seemed to come from nowhere, it was a male sounding voice but she couldn't understand what it was saying. She tried to say, "Is that you, God," but all that came from her were grunts and slurred pieces of words.

There was a click, and then two clicks.

"Can you hear me now, Amy?"

"Yes," she said, and it surprised her that it sounded like the word yes.

"What day is it?"

"Sun—day. Did—you know—Ron-a is dead?"

"What year is it, Amy?"

"Two..."

There was another click.

What year, Amy?"

"I don't know."

"Think harder, Amy, what year is it?"

"Two thousand—twenty or something—no—that's wrong."

"Good, Amy. Now think again, what year is it."

There were five distinct clicks.

"Two thousand six."

"Very good, Amy, your doing fine."

"I am?"

"Yes. You will hear a click, and when you do, you will wake up. You "will" remember everything that has happened up to now. You will see, and hear everyone around you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Click!"

Amy opened her eyes for the first time in three weeks. The first thing she saw was a brightly colored round object hovering in the air, but her vision wasn't clear enough to identify what it was. She tried to raise her hand and rub her eyes but her arms would not move.

"How are you feeling Amy," said the familure male voice.

She heard the voice this time—and even knew the direction it was coming from. She turned her head and could see the outline of a face and head.

"I think I'm blind, and I can't move my arms—and my head hurts."