Darling,
In 1965, Theodore Sturgeon, real-life inspiration for Kilgore Trout, wrote a letter to friend and fellow science fiction luminary, Harlan Ellison, concerning Mr. Ellison’s devestation over a failed marriage. The following massively interesting series of words were included in said letter: “You have cause for many feelings, Harlan: anger, indignation, regret, grief. Theodor Reik, who has done some brilliant anatomizations of love, declares that its ending is in none of these things: if it is, there is a good possibility that some or one or all of them were there all along. It is ended with *indifference* — really ended with real indifference. This is one of the saddest things I know.” Now, I am not interested in why exactly it is one of the saddest things. I could go out on a limb and presume it has something to do with death or failure or some such, but that isn’t my point.
My point is, this indifference has been my hugest nightmare for the past nine months. It has terrified me to the point of insanity. But here, now, as I finally feel it coming on, it really isn’t so bad. In fact, it may be for the best.
Have you ever read Raise High Your Roof Beams, Carpenters, by J.D. Salinger? I am going to assume you haven’t, though it is very likely you have. Just to give it a brief introduction, the story concerns Seymour Glass, infamous star of A Perfect Day for Banana Fish (a story I know you are more than familiar with), though he never appears in the story. No, what the story really concerns is Seymour’s brother, Buddy, attending Seymour’s wedding, finding the groom absent, then dealing with the stood-up bride’s aqcuaintances, though these events are hardly the point of the story.
No (to be entirely circular), the story is all about Seymour. And, one thing I learned from reading this story is that I am Seymour. No, not literally, or even exactly, just in the fact that he is the archetypal Lost Child, the quintessential Number Nine (enneogramatically speaking). In fact, there are many instances when my similarity to him is almost painful (I will not point them out here, but if you do read the story, I would direct you to his wife-to-be’s mother’s description of the character). Anyway, where I am going with this is: he decides not to marry her, because he comes to a certain realization, which is that he has been stifling this girl. His innate emotional disconnection (as well as a psychological condition Semour names a perfection complex) has made her feel inferior, unable to really express herself or her identity around him.
Now, he doesn’t mean for this to happen, but it does, and he realizes this, and decides not to appear at the wedding. They do get married, of course (you know this, see: Banafish), and that is the important point here: he married her, but I never married you. Not to say I didn’t marry you because I thought I was stifling you. I never married you for reasons I am still unsure of (though I am sure it lies in my Lost Child archetype), but that is hardly the point.
The point is I never married you, and he did (yes, calm down, I am being very repetitive, but after all, I am drunk).
Now, I do not mean to imply the only important difference between myself and Seymour Glass is marital status, because, after all, Seymour shot himself, and I have not. Now, hang on, this is the most important point. Had we stayed on, even married, and had you still not decided to leave me (or me you, I guess this point is still open to contention), I think I very much would have realized what I had done to you, that is how I affected you, much in the sense that Seymour realized what he had done to his wife, and felt not only incredibly guilty, but in fact trapped in said guilt, and, well, I don’t know if I would be so dramatic that I would shoot myself, but I can assure you it would not have been–
What I mean to say here and now (as the last gasps of a man who still cares) is it would never have worked out anyway. I am ready to let the indifference come, and I don’t mean to presume that you haven’t already, but if you have not, you should. It is not as sad as it seems on the other side, at least I hope it isn’t.
I’m left here at the end with only images, as my subconscious thrashes about, trying to hang on. We will always have The Holly, Arizona, Fort Lupton, that little pub in Harvad Square, Yaki Maki, Peach Pie, but once we move on they will be–
I don’t know if I will miss you, but I hope–
Yours, indefinitely–
P.S. In a part of Raise High…, Seymour throws a rock at a childhood sweetheart. I am not looking to excuse my worst decisions of the past year, or even fully explain them, only to infer that this scene may offer some insight.
P.P.S. You’re a slut and you’ve ruined my life.
P.P.P.S. Sorry, I thought I’d get it out once more, for nostalgia’s sake.
P.P.P.P.S. Yes, I fully realize this appears as overcompensating, with the whole “I don’t care,” “moving on,” etc. and it absolutely is overcompensating, but the indifference really is coming, and there is no use fighting it anymore.
