Messages from the Imposter

Imposter (interior monologue)

I had the knife in my hand.

Had her blindfolded.  This woman, who wouldn’t do what I said, was a complete robot, the ball-busting bitch stereotype.

And then I got her here.

Pretending to be her Brother, pretending to be the man she loves.

How did I become that GUY??

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Messages From The Imposter:

Could you tell me what happened?  (But only if you can, and if it’s okay for you to go there)  Because, I honestly don’t understand.  Anything.  

I don’t know what was true.

And I’d love it if you could give me your version of events.  Your side of the story.  Or tell me the story that you tell yourself.

I promised to always be patient.

(I’m still here)

But should I stop? Have you moved on?  What is your life like now?  Are you married?  What do you do for money?  Who are you as a person?  Do you still like to swim?

(I still don’t know what happened.  I was sent to Russia, remember?  I was gone.  the last thing I remember about you was you giving me my poster back.  And you waving.  I always thought I’d see you again.)

They told me that you were dead.  I asked how it happened, tried to find a newspaper article.  Something about going down to the river, and maybe crashing through the ice.  (I was always terrified of the ice).  You told me once that you just wanted the hypothermia to set in.  But I argued for your body (did that part matter?)

A few years ago, before she died, your mom told me that you were in jail.  Or an institution.  And that I should take care of you when you got out.  I should NEVER visit you.  That you would contact me.  If you wanted me to know you again.

When I heard that, I was certain that we were found out.  

(Is that what happened?  Did they send you to reform school or just jail?  Were you accused of rape?  How come they didn’t need me to testify at the trial?  Did they know I wouldn’t testify against you?)

I was afraid that you had tried to kill yourself because of me, because of what we did. Admittedly, I was mad.  For a very long time.  You abandoned me, sure, but you abandoned yourself too.  

I wanted so badly to meet that man you’d grow into.  To know him, look him in the eye.  Someone to reveal myself to, in all those endless late night talks.

Norman Rockwell childhood.  With all those pongs and streams and fishing and hills and dogs and fireflies in the background.

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Hi.  It’s me.  Thank you for your emails.  I can’t tell you how much I hold them to my heart.  They are received with grateful eyes.

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Can’t you tell me anything yet?  Still?  Are you still being quiet?  Let me know what I should do.  Can I come visit you?  Can I talk to you on the phone?  You come back from the dead after 20 years and you write to me for months.  

(I’m still not certain it’s you)

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It’s me.  We used to swim to The Point.  Chocolate pudding from Rustler’s Steakhouse.  I play the guitar now.

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Those 4 sentences made me scream and cry and shiver and laugh.  Do my words do anything for you? Don’t you love me anymore?

Please can I see you?

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I haven't had a picture taken for a while.

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I want you.  I want to see you breathing.  I want to see you alive.

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Letter to Brother:

I forgive you.

For what

You remember that day we were in the middle of The Pond, and we were playing around.  Both in over our heads.  I got a good punch in at you.  And you got really mad.  Uncontrollably mad.  You held me under.

I forgive you.

Yes. I remember. (I still have moments like that.  And that’s why I’m here.  And why I don’t want you to see me.  I don’t know what would happen.)

I want to see you.  To hug you.  If yours was my last embrace, that would be okay with me.  I just want to see you.

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The other day I drove to a beautiful spot….

You drove?

Yes.  I have my car here.  I have to sign when I leave and when I plan to come back.  I just have to call if I’m going to be late, otherwise they worry.

You drove to our spot, but you won’t drive to see me?  You won’t let me visit you, because you are so fragile, but you can go out into the world?!?!?!

Stop playing your games.  You’re getting angry and demanding again.  I won’t put up with you when you do this.

I’m not the one playing games! I’m the one who’s waited for you for 20 years.  ENDLESS PATIENCE, remember??  And now you are flaunting your supposed freedom in my FACE!!

Where are you going to swim next?  I’ll meet you there.

Really?

I will do everything within my power.  And if I fail the first time, let me know where you will be and I will go.  It will be VERY HARD for me.  Trust me, please.  Just imagining seeing you in front of me is already tearing me apart.  I can’t even imagine speaking.  

Oh.  It’s okay.  It’s all okay.  

thank you

I’ll swim.  I already think of you when I swim.  As if you are there.  Either with me, in the water, or somewhere on the shore.   Yesterday, I felt someone looking at me, I turned to look over my shoulder.  And I thought I saw you.  It was just a man.  Onshore, I don’t even think he was watching me.  But I wanted it to be you.

I wanted it to be you.

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Remember the Games?

Of course

Superman.  Prince Charming.  

Sword.  Frying pan.  Cucumber.  

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I have to confess.

What?

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Would you love me, even if it turned out I wasn’t the man you remembered?

I love my brother. I love the human who I remember growing up with.  I love the human who has been typing to me these past weeks.  You wanted me to be patient.  Here I am, being patient.  Forever.

Lots of things have changed.  I have to make sure you’d trust me.

What do you have to confess?

I was watching you.

At the last pond?

Before that.  At the first pond.  I see you.  In my mind, in my heart.  I see where you go.  I’m still always with you.