Letter To Jason

Jason,                                           Oct. 22nd, 2003
    Okay, I have no idea if you’ve written an E-mail to me, since I’m typing this after I got off from IMing you, took a long walk around Sycamore, and was talking to myself, telling you off.  Yeah, I’m pissed off at the moment, and do you know why?  Because of you!  You talk of how you’re trying to change, and you know what I say to that?  It’s BS!!  Every time I talk about being the one to have gotten through to you, who can see through your mind games, and such, you give me that superior grin, and say, “Oh, really?”  As if it’s some kind of challenge to prove me wrong.  I’m sick of it!  I hate that you’ll do that, and seem to accept it as a challenge to prove me wrong, yet five minutes later, you’ll turn around and tell me that I’m the exception to the rule.  Why do you so thoroughly contradict yourself like that?  You even did it tonight.  You admitted that you dodged my question, yet a few lines later, insisted you answered it, and that if I didn’t remember what you’d said, it “wasn’t your problem,’ and I should just “deal with it.”  Well, tell me.  What am I supposed to deal with?  Because either you dodged my question, or you answered me.  Which was it?  You can’t have it both ways.
    You know what I am dealing with, Jason?  I’m dealing with a “best friend” who, so often, doesn’t seem to see me as much more than a pesky, annoying, English inquisition-er!  Yes, English.  I’m a Beatle fan, remember?  You say you enjoy the one way mirror lifestyle.  Well, you know what?  I’m getting to the breaking point here.  You insist that you like living that way, yet you say you’re trying to be more open with me.  Which is it?  You can’t have that both ways, either.  I can’t keep going back and forth, never knowing if I’m getting a real answer out of you.  I can’t keep thinking ‘hey, maybe he’s finally breaking through old habits, instincts, whatever,’ only to have you deny that a day later.    We’re best friends, yet I can’t help wondering if you even know what that phrase means.  You insist you don’t give your mind away, that I’ve taken bits and pieces of it, that you haven’t been willing in the giving up of them, that I’ve more or less bullied you into it.  But you know what?  That doesn’t describe how best friends work.  Best friends don’t give and take.  They share.  You’re not giving up a piece of your mind, or your heart, or your soul, or yourself.  You’re sharing it with another person who has proven to be enough like yourself that it feels as if they’re a part of you.  Soul-sisters, (or in our case, brother-and-sister).  Best friends.  Soul mates.  Whatever.  Who cares?  The name doesn’t matter.  But the meaning behind it does.
     You want to know what best friends means to me?  It means that you’ve found another part of yourself.  It means you aren’t alone anymore.  It means you’ve found someone to stay up all night talking with.  You’ve found someone who will hold your hand when you’re afraid.  Someone who will dry your tears when you cry.  Someone who you can tell silly, stupid, ridiculous, or serious things to, and they’ll keep them in their heart.