A Letter from Gabe (The Bones of Who We Are)

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

A Letter from Seth (The Ugly Truth)

Dear Reader:

First thing you should know about me: I can’t be trusted.

Why? I lie. 

I know it’s wrong, and I do it anyway. It’s survival instinct.

For this letter, though, I’ll do my best to tell you the truth (within reason and as long as I can preserve my safety). . . 

My name is Seth Peters. I’ve lived in Cantos, Oregon my whole life, and I’m the only child of Jack and Kate Peters. I’m pretty good at school - I’m a junior; I’m really good at soccer which will probably be how I get to college (if I live that long); I’ve got a lot of friends and a lot of people who want to be my friend. 

That’s all I got. 

As I read what I’ve written back, I note its superficiality. It makes me sad because this is really all I show anyone. No one really wants to dive any deeper anyway because the deeper we go, the darker it gets. Any more and I might scare you away. My story isn’t a glossy narrative in which we hold hands after and sing campfire songs. No one wants the honest truth about what happens in the secret hearts of men. Lies are safer, easier, and allow us to turn our heads so we don’t have to face the ugly truth.

So, I guess the overall message I’m trying to tell you is to enter at your own risk. 

Sincerely,

Seth 

A Letter from Abby (Swimming Sideways)

Aloha e na World - 

My name is Abigail Keānuenueonālani Kaiāulu & Swimming Sideways is my story. Everyone calls me Abby. The rest of my name is Hawaiian which I get from my dad. My middle name means A rainbow from heaven because on the day I was born my Poppa saw a rainbow. He said it was a sign of great things because rainbows are strong signs in Hawaiian culture often associated with chiefs (aliʻi). So far, I think I’m a disappointment to my name but Poppa would tell me to be patient. My last name is a wind - a gentle breeze - that comes in from the ocean to the Westside, my Waiʻanae homeland. 

I have spent all of my life on the island of Oʻahu except for the summers hanging out with my Grandma Bev (my mom’s mom) in Oregon and now, Arizona. I have a lot of fond memories of those Oregon summers: a friend named Seth; the tall trees; Grandma Bev’s laugh; playing in the woods behind her house; building sandcastles at the beach. Visiting Arizona is different and less frequent now that Grandma Bev does a lot of traveling with her group of retired friends. My favorite place to be is home, on Oʻahu in the ocean. I love to surf. Poppa taught me.

Everything changed for me a couple of years ago, when my Poppa died. He raised my twin brothers & me because our parents worked. He taught me everything I know about Hawaiian culture (I wish I’d been a better listener). When he died, my family fell apart. I fell apart, and made some choices I wish I could take back. That’s when the incident occurred, and it impacted my world at school too. Needless to say, the last year or so has been hell on earth.

My mom and dad told us we were moving to Oregon. They’ve been fighting a lot, and I’m pretty confident that this decision was my mom’s. She’s from Oregon, so it’s what she knows. At first, I was upset about it, but the more time I’ve had to consider the opportunity it presents for a fresh start, I don’t find myself as antagonistic toward the idea. Dad said that Hawaiians were explorers: they navigated the stars to find Hawaii, so now we’re going to do some exploring.

Here’s what I think. Explorer or not, it’s my job to make sure no one finds out about The Incident at my new school in Oregon. That means I have to do everything right, because I can’t face my junior year in the same social dump where I’ve spent the last year and a half. I’m also hoping my family will find a way to make it through these rough seas. When my Poppa was teaching me to surf, he said how important it is to watch the ocean before getting into it. Be an observer, he’d said.  He also said that sometimes we all get caught in a rip current. “If that happens, Tita, don’t fight it. Swim sideways out of it.” So, that’s what I’m trying to do: Swim Sideways.

I hope you enjoy my story.

Aloha,

Abby