"Nothing more intense than
the terror of losing your identity."
-Alejandra Pizarnik
*
"I was born depraved
But created for the Divine
With death in my bones
In my heart I turned alive."
-All At War, Downhere
*
Dear Oliver,

It's been a long time. I haven't been writing as much, sorry for that.

Do you ever feel like you're defined by things that you wish you could change

but at the same time, those things feel like they make up your identity?

And if you lose your identity, what's left of you? Just a person, floating through life, with nothing that leaves a mark on the world. Nothing that says, "I was here. I lived. I had interesting thoughts and did good when I could. Don't forget me."

If I leave behind who I am right now, and begin the journey to be someone else, I'm afraid I'll lose courage halfway through. And then I'll be nobody.

And I'd rather have pain, than nothing.

Love,

B
*

It was two days after the party when Amelia started her garden.

Originally, I had thought the idea was a good one, and decided that I'd help every now and then if she really needed it. I did not, however, expect to be woken up at six in the morning on a Sunday.

     "Is something wrong?" I asked groggily, blinking rapidly through the bright light streaming from my windows.

She was holding a shovel in one hand. Her earlier statement regarding climbing into Reese's grave flashed through my mind and I sat up a little more, my mind clearing as alarm raced through it. She wouldn't rob a body from its grave on the Sabbath, would she?

     "Nothing's wrong, Izzy, I just need your help digging," she said, resting the dirt covered shovel on the hardwood.

     "Digging what, exactly?" I asked warily.

     "Well...I don't know, actually," she frowned, her brow wrinkling as she considered the question. "I just figured that to make a garden you'd need a shovel. And digging."

     "Garden?"

Right. I'd completely forgotten about that. She really wanted to do that right now, so early, when we could be sleeping? More importantly, I wanted to know why she was in my room with the gardening tools.

     "You seemed interested in it the other day, so I thought you'd like to help me!"

This was unbelievably unfair. How could I say no to this, a mere few days after her husband had died? I really had to drag myself out of bed, at an unholy time, just to dig around in the dirt and plant a few seeds.

     "Oh...okay. Yeah, that sounds great," I said, too awake now to go back to sleep.

I was lying through my teeth.

     "I'll go ahead and go outside, then," she replied cheerfully.

I watched her leave and flopped back onto my bed the moment the door shut behind her. Amelia was a lot like my mom in some aspects. They shared the same favorite books. Both of them hated shrimp except in pasta, and then it became their favorite food. They listened to the same bands, played the same instrument in college, and drank Dr. Pepper like it was water.

But for some reason, I couldn't get a read on her. She was acting completely fine. And I wasn't trying to question it, because what did I know? I'd never loved someone like she'd loved Reese. I'd had a best friend who was my entire world, and I'd lost him. But I hadn't lost him in a way that meant he didn't exist at the same time as me anymore.

That was different. Death was different. It was unlike anything else I'd ever known.

I assumed Amelia's way of coping was somewhat similar to mine; pretending that the thing we were supposed to be coping with just hadn't happened.

Reese was gone? No, he wasn't. He was just a little dead. But he's not gone. His clothes are still hanging up in the closet. His books are still on the shelves.

Regardless, I wasn't going to say anything to Amelia about it. It wasn't my place, and frankly, I wouldn't even know what to say.

Besides, this summer I was supposed to do new things, like going outside. Digging. Sweating.

I grimaced, but it couldn't be helped. Now that I'd said I was going to do it, there was no way I was backing out.

Rifling through the clothes that my parents had finally sent up, I took out a cropped, gray camisole, and a pair of loose-fitting, white linen shorts. Then I sat on the edge of my bed, actively trying to resist the urge to crawl back under the blankets, and pulled my shoes on.

After running a brush through my unruly hair, I checked my phone and glared at the time for a full five seconds.

     "This is supposed to be a day of rest," I grumbled, shoving my phone into my back pocket and standing up.

Leaving my room at this hour of the morning was painful, but seeing Bennett at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for me, was even worse.

     "I can't deal with you this early," I mumbled, trying to sidle past him and hoping he wasn't going to trip me. Although a fall down the stairs did seem preferable to having a conversation with him right now.

     "Did mom wake you up to help her?"

I nodded, going down one step.

     "She asked me, too."

     "I'll let you use the shovel, then."

The hall light chased away most of the shadows, but the ones across his face remained. Almost like they were permanently etched there. Had they been there at the funeral, these lines, this jaded look in his eyes?

If I'd noticed them, I had probably just attributed it to the events of the day. Although I wondered: was this the face of someone who lost their parent, or the face of someone who disliked their old best friend? Or was all this seriousness, all this knowing, that was written across his expression, was this just what happened when you got older and got a taste of the world?

Your face changed. Your voice changed. You got taller and older, and maybe wiser. Did I have any wisdom to show for all the years that made up the time between us?

     "I can't exactly picture you toiling in the sun to plant some flowers and vegetable seeds," Bennett said, coming down one step as I went down another. He looked down on me with a little bit of a scowl gathering between his eyebrows. "I thought you hated nature."

     "That's not true," I protested, folding my arms. "I love nature. Rain and, um, clouds...trees. Those are all great. But I can appreciate those from indoors. Where there aren't any insects, or extreme weather, or..."

Or people. That's what I was going to say. I wouldn't have hesitated to say something like that when we were friends, but times were different. It would be embarrassing to admit that now.

But something passed in his eyes, some feeling, or maybe a sense of understanding, and I got the sense that he knew what I hadn't said.

     "Right. And how are you supposed to see the shapes in the clouds if you're looking at them through a window?"

There was a metaphor in there, somewhere, but it was early, and it was Bennett who was saying this.

     "Everyone has their thing," I shrugged, turning and walking down the stairs. He followed, hands in the pockets of his gym shorts, so I continued talking. "I have my books, some people are into drawing, there are people who somehow enjoy camping. You used to be into fashion, which clearly changed."

I cast a distasteful look over my shoulder at his attire, not because I thought it was bad or ugly, but because I remembered. I remembered when he used to put time each morning into putting an outfit together that was marked with the desire to stand out. Flared pants, vests, hats, belts, patterned ties. It was mostly seventies and eighties styled, which was the opposite of what he was wearing now.

He used to put thought into it, vision, creativity. And the effort showed that he enjoyed it, even though some people at school made fun of him.

It was okay if he'd changed. I was just recalling old ways and past days. But the paths we used to walk on are overgrown now.

     "So you're okay with just having one thing? New things aren't bad."

We reached the bottom of the stairs and I halted, whirling on him with a bit of annoyance.

     "I know that. I'm literally awake at six a.m. on a Sunday so I can go help start a garden. But there's nothing wrong with old things, either."

     "Life is more than books," Bennett said flatly, moving to go past me. He headed towards the back door. "If you spend so much time in fiction, you're gonna miss reality happening all around you. And sometimes it's better than books, Isabella."

I watched him go with gritted teeth. The door slammed shut behind him.

     "It's Bella," I said to empty air, with no particular amount of emotion. "And I sincerely doubt it."

How had it been less than fifteen minutes since I'd woken up and I was already tired? The day had just began and I'd already had a trip down memory lane and an almost-argument with Bennett.

What a great way to start my morning. Along with some gardening, of course.

     "Bella!" Amelia called when I stepped outside. She and Bennett were standing near the left side of the fence that enclosed their spacious yard. "I hope you're ready to get your hands dirty."

I looked down sadly at my clean hands, and then smiled weakly in Amelia's direction. "So ready."

     "If you want to go back to bed, we won't hold that against you," Bennett said, his tone probably coming off as kind to Amelia, but I knew better.

My eye twitched. I was pretty sure even if I wanted to go back to sleep, I wouldn't be able to. I would just lay awake seething about Bennett and his relentless attitude.

Couldn't he just ignore me like I ignored him? Or tried to, at least. We had to sit together at the dinner table every night that we were home, and we passed each other in the kitchen sometimes, but I always looked away if I met his eyes.

Now he was trying to start something, and new Bella wasn't going to back down from this. If he wanted attitude, he didn't know what he was starting.

     "No, I don't think so," I said brightly, tromping through the ankle-high grass to where they were. Amelia was wearing a sunhat atop her head of brown tresses, and I almost wished I had something similar.

     "And here I thought you preferred the indoors."

There were a few bags of soil stacked on top of each other, lying on the ground unopened. Next to them, the shovel had been thrown onto the ground and abandoned. Flowers in temporary planters were sitting in neat rows against the tall wooden fence; I saw sunflowers, tulips, and lavender.

     "I'm okay, Bennett. Thank you for being so concerned for me, though," I flashed him a sweet smile before turning to Amelia once more. "Where are the seeds to plant?"

     "That's not the Bella I knew," Bennett muttered, and tsked. I knew he was just trying to get on my nerves, so I didn't give him the satisfaction of glaring at him.

     "Oh, I've got them right here, honey," Amelia answered my question, patting the front pocket of her blue and white, striped button down shirt. "We probably won't even get around to planting anything today. I imagine just the digging itself will take a while."

I bit back a groan of disappointment and tried not to think about all the other things I could be doing right now. Like sleeping. Or reading. Two of my favorite things.

     "And I've got good news, Bella!"

No more garden? You've decided that gardens are too much work and you'd much rather take up pottery?

     "I found another shovel!"

Oh, great.

     "Really? That's certainly...good news. To be sure."

     "It means the work will go by a lot faster," Bennett spoke up, grabbing the first shovel from off the ground. "The other one is in the garage."

Why was he saying that to me? Like I was responsible for this other shovel that had mysteriously and unfortunately appeared? This wasn't my garden. I hated manual labor and he knew that.

     "Yeah, of course," I said, cursing myself and my inability to be a jerk to anyone other than Bennett.

He deserved it. Amelia didn't, though. She just had a new life now, and she was trying to navigate it. Without a husband and without her best friends. Besides her work friends, all she had were two warring teenagers as companions.

I didn't know how she did it. I didn't know how she was able to bear the weight of having nobody. I knew loneliness very well, like an old and trusted friend. It wasn't new to me like it must've been to Amelia.

Of course, I hadn't always been familiar with it, but things had changed.

And there was still a hope that things could change again.