Dear Inez

Dear Inez,

Where do I start with this one? Oh, apologies - you don't know I'm doing a "letters series" to those I once knew but haven't spoken to in years. Don't worry, I'm probably never going to send this, but in the off chance I do, please feel free to burn after reading.

I knew you in ____, California, when I lived there, in the early days of my living in California. I met you - when? I think in 2019. Yes - before Covid. We met at a cafe on ____ Avenue. You had suggested it. It was dismal, actually. Pretentious as all get-out. The coffee was served like I needed to know some hipster language to get it, a language I didn't speak, and I was treated accordingly.

I don't think that was your fault, Inez. It also wasn't your fault that you had everything I could ever want. You were a writer. A copywriter, I later learned. You had short hair and bangs that were too short. You went to _____ College on the east coast, so we had that instant connection.

You spoke like you didn't care what anyone thought of you, but how do I make that lyrical? For you spoke off-handedly, casually, like you had nothing to prove. My entire life, Inez, I have had something to prove.

After coffee we went to a bookstore on ____ Avenue. You bought Ulysses. Ulysses! "I've always wanted to read it," you said, again, casually. What angel brought this creature to me? I thought. She's perfect friend material. We had so much in common.

Why did you stop talking to me, Inez? That is where this letter really begins, and ends. For lack of a better term, you were "cool." We made an appointment to go to winery, right when Covid was starting to clear up. You drove us, and we got so lost - we ended up two hours away from the winery by the time of our appointment. I was frustrated, but also in awe. How could someone steer us so wrong? But it was so cool. It was so cool that you were so oblivious, when my type A personality would otherwise be freaking out.

That day, we ended up going to a beach instead. I love, absolutely adore, the beach. Seeing the ocean sends shock waves through my heart. We went to a little restaurant where they served charcuterie. I love, absolutely adore, charcuterie. It was the perfect day.

So, Inez, why did you stop talking to me? Was I not "cool" enough, like you? I watch your Instagram stories now and see you out clubbing, something I also love to do. We could have had so much fun. I watch your Instagram stories and wonder what additional qualifications I would have needed to stay your friend.

Instagram stories are one thing. But real experiences? That's something else. And we experienced that - together. When I was falling apart in 2019, before Covid, when we first met - my heart getting broken by savage men, repeatedly, like I was the center of a cruel game I didn't know the rules to - you were my friend. Did you stop being my friend because I was depressed about men? I'll never know.

I'm going to end this letter to you, Inez, by saying that I miss you. I miss our shared experiences. I hope you read Ulysses. Not because it's a good book (it is), but because that remains my vision of you - someone cool, who can stand to read a book like Ulysses.

(I might still watch your Instagram stories.)

Signing off,

A.