Dear Reader,
There’s a saying - I think it’s by one of those ancient philosophers, but I don’t remember which one - that says something like “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” I think the old white guy was talking about cookies or something, not people, because when I look in the mirror, I can’t stop seeing all of the parts. I think that’s something you should know about me.
I don’t even know why I’m writing this letter to you. I don’t know you. I’m not one to share info even with the people I care about. Doc Miller suggests I open up. Trust, he says. It isn’t easy. Truth is, it’s impossible. Hasn’t been a lot of reasons in my life to extend trust. I suppose that’s why I’ve decided to walk into the woods drunk with a gun.
I can hear your question: Why?
Because there’s no other way to save the people I love from the monster inside me.
When I was ten, I was brought to Cantos by a social worker - Maura Dunning. She made a mistake but that mistake was probably the best one that ever happened to me in a series of mistakes that has defined my life to now. I’m a mistake. I’ve spent the last seven years trying to forget the awful event that precipitated my arrival here. The truth, though, is that you can’t run from who you are. You can’t forget those parts of you. No matter how much you try to forget the pieces, those snapshots of experience that contribute to the whole of you, they get abscessed.
Don’t get me wrong - there’s a lot of good stuff. There’s Martha and Dale, Abby, Doc Miller. It’s hard to see the good clearly though, because the bad is so ugly. What’s that saying? I think Doc Miller told me one time: It’s hard to see the forest through the trees. My whole life has gotten lost among the trees; I’m smart enough to know I’m in a forest, but don’t know how to find my way out anymore. I’m stuck in a loop. And now the infection is finding its way out. The monster.
So, that’s why I’m headed into the forest with what’s left of a bottle of whiskey and a gun in my pocket.
Can I ask you a favor? I left a letter for Dale and Martha, and one for Abby. Tell them to look in Cardboard Castle. And please tell them all, I love them. And I’m sorry.
Gabe
