Dear Vanessa

Dear Vanessa,

Our moments flashed through my mind today: strobe lights at parties, warm sand on beaches, crying in my bedroom, wishing we were feminine. Like shelter from the rain, your smile always soothed me.

In a dusty boutique, between frilly dresses and fragile trinkets, a beaten black book promising wonders scooped up by your hands.

First, we experimented with one of the sillier passages. When your dog meowed, we giggled all night until we made love. Then, we started using it to material advantage: making our food taste better, maxing our nightly pleasure, stretching our time together.

When Jeff beat you senseless calling you a “disgusting fag,” I was pissed. We stashed ourselves away into my bedroom. I turned to revenge, despite your objections. The next day, we learned Jeff broke his leg in three places at football practice.

You sobbed that night. I tried to comfort you, but you wouldn’t let me. I swore to never use the book for evil again and cried with you until the sun rose.

The next day, we did each other’s makeup and went shopping. You purchased a goth outfit that worked okay. As we left, a stranger spat at my feet, and walked away. It looked conspicuous enough, but I knew, and you knew, it was deliberate.

We disappeared into my bedroom again. Together, we discovered the shape-shifting spell. Adorn whatever bodies we wanted: crow, panther, spider, woman. It became our new mission. No matter what, we would fulfill this spell.

We bought rifles and trained for months at the shooting range until black powder coated our wrists. When you first hit five targets in a row, you beamed radiantly and ran to hug and kiss me. We invested in camping gear, hunting gear, books on wolves.

As we left Philadelphia and drove west, we were ravens flying for the first time. In every state, you bought key chains that rubbed against my knees when driving, but I didn’t mind. You were cute, Vanessa.

We spent two weeks camping in Montana. We caught rabbits and skunks. You tried to shoot a bear but missed, and it rumbled away. As instructed by the book, we cast luring magic in the woods. Finally, it attracted some wolves. We both aimed steadily, everything in our lives resting on this moment. We counted down together: three, two, one, fire. A loud burst echoed through the mountainside. I heard the thunk of bullet meeting flesh. With bated breath, we watched the pack disseminate into the trees.

We pranced like fairies to the wolves. Two of them, beautiful black fur, staring into each other’s eyes, almost kissing in death. It seemed so unlikely; fate was on our side. As we waited three nights for the new moon. We dined on wolf meat, we danced by the fire, we groped on the grass. If I could freeze a moment in time, it would be when we cuddled after sex, saying nothing, staring into each other’s deep pupils. We saw our true selves everyone else refused to see.

The next night was the new moon, and the mood over that day was a mixture of excitement, nervousness, and panic. This was the riskiest magic we had ever attempted and we knew there was a chance it may not end well. Whenever you felt dismay, Vanessa, I reminded you we would become shapeshifters, we would become ourselves. You would perk up, but fear was still present beneath your smile.

As the sun descended, leaving us in total darkness, we followed the rules in the black book. We put the wolf furs on the fire. Then holding hands, we slid the knife down our arms. The pain was immense, forcing us to embrace each other, our bodies tightly woven together in the flickering light.

After a moment of silence, you said you saw the stars in my eyes. I kissed you.

The wolf furs burned in the fire, casting a sulfurous odor in the air. Blood streamed fresh lines across our naked bodies as we caressed in the dark wilderness. The pain of my open wounds were numbed by your sweet lips. Passion erupted on our tongues like never before. Your eyes, a wild fire.

An eternity of love passed us in that moment, as our bodies grew weak, and we slowly collapsed to the ground, arms wrapped around each other.

I love you, you said.

I love you too, I said.

We faded into darkness.

Waking from death was unpleasant. My lungs inflamed as I coughed up phlegm and blood. My bones resounded with pain, as if they all had snapped back into place.

I turned to see you silently sleeping. Your body resembled the true self that was within: luscious hair, clear skin, an hourglass figure. Your eyes were frozen open, as deep and soothing as they always had been. My heart lifted in my chest. I wanted nothing more than to dance with you again, walk the beaches again, cry together again. This time, perfect as we were.

I touched my face, tracing the smooth new curves in my forehead, my cheek bones, my jaw. I was beautiful. I sobbed and my tears made me dizzy.

I rose and walked around, testing my new legs: elegant, gracious, sultry. Then on the balls of my feet, acting like I wore heels. My bare toes rubbed firmly into the dirt as I strutted on a leafy runway. In the tent, I pulled out my clothes and tried them on, one after another, wishing you were awake to see how well they fit.

The sunbeams filtered through the trees, and you still laid on the ground. Eyes frozen open. You must have been staring at me as death came upon us. I knelt beside you and brushed your hair behind your ear.

“Vanessa,” I said.

I checked your neck, and there was no pulse.

“Vanessa,” I said again, hoping you would hear my new voice.

I kissed your cold lips, hoping true love would wake you. My lips still pressed against yours when I started to cry. The tears flowed down my cheeks onto yours, then into the dirt with our blood and old skin. I wailed at the sun: my lungs on the verge of shattering, so the wolves might hear your eulogy.

I don’t know how many days passed as I laid in the wilderness with you. It wasn’t until your scent started to sour that I realized I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t remember you like that: smelling bad. I sprayed perfume over your body, then dug a deep grave. Every pound of dirt, eating away at my sanity.

Now you lay there in your gorgeous goth dress and the black book and soon, this farewell letter. I thought maybe I should bury myself with you, embrace the total blackness beneath the dirt, until I die and perhaps then, in my hallucinations, you will come to life and be with me one last time. But no. My death would bring dishonor upon all we’ve done. We knew the risks and we accepted that The Fates can be cruel. So, I’ve got your keychains, and your perfume for however long that lists. I hope that you may haunt me in this life, and that in the next life, and the life after that, we will find each other again. You saved me and my every breath is in honor of you, my dearest.

Rest In Pride, Vanessa. I love you.

Yours Eternally,

Constance