Page 22 of It’s Me They Follow

Dear Elle,

Remember making up stories about our make pretend boyfriends when we were little girls? We would have gotten in so much trouble if anyone ever read those letters we sent each other back then even though none of it were true.

I told you about that guy I met, ME. And for better or worse, he’s become a main character in my life.

But get this: He’s recently left to become a monk.

Right, like, who leaves to become a monk?

I feel silly saying I am hurt. We only just met.

I want him to experience his calling and see the world.

But I’m confused by our connection. I never want to be the one who holds someone back from something like that.

And even though he can’t touch like I can’t touch, in my dreams we touch sooooooooooooo much.

I miss him, and it’s only been a few days. It’s silly, I know. I know.

Anyway, life got real after I met ME. I can tell you details when we see each other, but for now, guess what?

I think his mother was my doctor! And God rest her soul, she just randomly kicked the bucket.

I’m trying NOT to call youknowwho. Or get caught up with That Energy, so I’m asking for help, because how am I supposed to forge ahead with opening at a time like this.

It feels like losing a parent all over again.

Who is supposed to fix me now? HOW? How do I NOT take this as a sign to stop?

STOP! I want to scream at the voice in my head, I NEED TO STOP.

My place has been vandalized, my awning is misspelled, my writing group is over, my lover has left me, my heart is broken, and my doctor just passed away.

Oh yeah, and I still can’t touch anyone without passing out at their feet.

Anyway, ME left me with a letter that I was scared to read.

I think I just enjoyed wondering more than knowing at first—you know how I love a good story—like, Oooooh, what’s gonna happen?

But after a while wondering gets old and we just need to know.

When our class was over, everyone was so depressed.

I was walking down all these stairs, ’cause you know I don’t do crowded elevators, and for some reason, I wasn’t scared anymore of the letter; I was ready for the next chapter.

And maybe I was just lightheaded from all the walking, but Ms. Harriett came again, stopped me in the middle of that stairway.

Not her. But her voice. Her spirit. She told me to sit down and open the letter from ME.

She’s still a voice in my left ear, like when we were kids, only louder now.

And she said, “Open the letter so we can get on with the story.” She was right.

So I sat down on a step. Took out the crinkled envelope and opened it.

The letter wasn’t even deep.

It said, To find ME, go HOME.

Interesting, right? Maybe it is deep , I thought.

I went straight home and realized on my walk there that ME (but now I think it may have been his mom who was writing the letters all along) wasn’t telling me to go home to my apartment; she was telling me to go back home Down South to our grandparents’ home to face myself.

So, I’m writing to see if you’ll drive with me (really drive for me because I am the worst driver ever—especially at night) back Down South for a quick turnaround trip.

But here’s the kicker: I need to leave right away.

If you’re free, I will cry tears of joy.

Love,

Your Sister Friend, Gee