Not good enough
by M. F. Luder
Seth closes his eyes, his back against the pole. He doesn't remember ever feeling this tired, this sleepy, or this thirsty.
Not for the first time, Seth wonders if maybe, just maybe, leaving Newport was not his best idea.
Tahiti is out of the question. Actually, it was out of the question ten minutes into the trip, when he realized he didn't have enough food, or enough money, to last him all forty-two days. So, yeah, no Tahiti.
He tells himself it's not because he doesn't want to make the trip without Ryan, because, really, he can make it alone. He had been planning on making it alone.
Well, hmm... no, he had been planning on making it with Summer. He only needed to have Summer first.
Funny how things happen because, when he made the decision to leave, when he packed a few things, all the money he had saved up, notebooks and pens, having Summer hadn't led to taking her with him.
Having Summer had only led to wanting to take Ryan with him.
Seth shakes his head. Because it's pointless to think about it. Pointless because Ryan is now in Chino. Pointless because he's already on the way... to wherever he can get before dying of exhaustion. Pointless because he left without a letter to Ryan.
Getting out a bottle of water, Seth takes a long swallow. He finishes half of the bottle.
He reaches for his notebook, pencil in hand.
He reads over what he has so far.
Ryan,
I know this will surprise you because, yeah, we had promised to do this together, but we can't. We won't now. You have other things to do. You have other responsibilities now. You--Seth shakes his head, scratching the last line. He thinks about it before tearing off the page and shoving it inside his backpack. When he docks, he'll throw out the ten pages he already has inside.
He starts once again. For the twentieth time. In the last five days.
Five days and Seth can’t find a word that fits. A sentence that expresses what he wants to say. A letter that's perfect enough to send and to give Ryan.
Seth knows this is him being weird, being obsessed about something he can't control anymore than the wind that's driving him at the moment, but he should. Seth tells himself that he should know at least one word to offer. One word that will be perfect, that will fit. One word will say everything without stating too much because, for once, Seth doesn’t want to say much.
One word. It's not too hard. It's not too difficult.
Hell, he's supposed to be an English major, or will be if he ever gets to college after this. Well, if his parents actually let him leave the house after this. He will study English, he will write for a living. He will, he knows this but he can't think of a word to offer Ryan.
One word.
He stares down at the page.
Dear Ryan.
No.
I'm sorry.
Not good enough.
I left.
Too obvious.
But you left first.
Too vindictive.
You said you'd stay.
Too personal.
You promised.
No, not really, no he didn't. But Seth believed so.
Forgive me.
Seth knows Ryan will.
Come with me.
Seth knows Ryan can't.
Stay.
Too late.
Seth writes, word after word, paragraph after paragraph, and nothing seems to fit. Seth wonders about dictionaries and double meanings. He curses high school English teachers that didn't spend enough time working in their classes because if they had, Seth would be able to find the words now, he would have them, he would grip them in between his fingers and force them to stay on the paper even against their will.
Seth would do that, he would do that for Ryan, only he can't even fucking find a single word.
I'm sorry doesn't convey enough. I miss you doesn't say everything. Don't go sounds like a plea. Come back doesn't sound pleading enough.
He spends his nights thinking about the words he will learn in college, words that will probably be perfect and exactly what he's dying to find. Words he wants to learn now. Words he wants to know already.
Words.
It's all about words.
Words he didn't say.
Words he didn't hear.
Words he wishes he had said before.
Words he doesn't have.
Words to Marissa, for pushing Ryan to Theresa. Words to Theresa, for not being more careful. Words to Ryan, for doing the right thing.
Words to himself, for not stopping this. For not saying something. For not asking. For not begging.
For not doing something when he could have. For just sitting there, on the bed, when Ryan stood by his side.
For not doing what he should have. Like standing up and hugging Ryan. Like grasping Ryan's wrist and telling him not to go. Like looking out the window and watching Ryan leave.
Like doing something.
Like saying something.
Like loving him when the time was right.
When Seth picks up his notebook once again, days after the last time he tried to do this, he stares down at the page, tightens his hold on the pen for a second before writing.
I love you. You love me. I know this.
Please. I need you. Come back.
It's not much, and it's not as perfect as Seth expected it to be, but it's enough. For now.
He sighs, turns around and reaches for the jib.
It's time to go back and mail this letter.
Finished: September 10th, 2004.