The Real Nigga.

Dear J,

Writing letters and not sending them has turned out to be a very effective habit, because in our case silence and distance are the only humane actions we can take. I have been minding my own business lately and have been away from that social tub we used to share for a long while now – not intentionally and it’s all temporary, but let’s say that that’s the most humane action to take. A lot of things seem to attack my immunity shield though, like whenever I trample over certain people and they mention you and your current affairs, or when I walk into a Cilantro for pure peeing purposes and my eyes find a "Maws Tawt". Even with my great efforts to minimize my friction with things like those that remind me of past times, I go home to speak to Purgatorio who speaks about Snowhite who reminds me of you – I think you and Snowhite share a lot in common, but that’s another story. It’s not only Purgatorio, for even Mariah speaks of you and of how she misses the good old days, and I feel a lot of pity towards her, for she is all the way in Austria and has no clue what she is talking about is now an illusion. Bottom line, people like speaking about you.

I heard about the new girl. I heard she asks about me and that she doesn’t particularly like me. I heard she will go throw herself from the highest mountain if she knew you and I met by coincidence down the street without even saying “hello” – that is of course after she shreds your body to pieces with blood and flesh and bones and all. That’s a matter of habit to me though; I am used to girlfriends doing evil spells and voodoo dolls for me. I heard she is a kitten stuck up a tree and that you save her every day, I also heard she climbs up the tree again just because she is the pretty girl who likes to be saved. I heard the guys don’t like her. They secretly miss the good old days and they secretly miss me. They miss me putting ice in everyone’s glass and watching over the glasses and refilling them with whiskey without them having to ask. I heard they miss me playing cards and them not having to worry about bottle-openers in cars because my teeth are amazing and strong. I heard they miss themselves talking freely with you, for your new girl doesn’t like bad words – because in the past, things like that wouldn't have mattered. I heard they miss me roaring with them in football matches, raving hard and even rocking harder. I heard everyone misses me and misses us together, but they just won’t admit it to you. I heard the girls miss me too. I heard the new girl is obsessive and weird, that she picks up on all your phone calls and stalks you. I heard she lies to the girls and tells them that you are busy or away or not willing to talk to any bitch of them. I heard everyone misses me that rumours started spreading around about me, that I now live in the Northern Coast, or that I am married with children in Ukraine or that I am a coke addict who won’t let people see her in such state. I heard everyone misses the real nigga I was but nobody will ever tell you such a thing. I heard you nearly stopped drinking because you claim it brings you nausea and all, but everyone just knows that you do that out of respect to her Islamic beliefs. I heard she fasts with Christians too, out of solidarity and some drama talk. I heard enough.

All of what I heard doesn’t make a difference to me; I will still be the shadow in Ukraine who is married with children, or to be honest, the coke addict spreading her feet in Northern Coast sands. But I can’t help but wonder… is that what you wanted, a pretty kitten up a tree?

Sincerely,

The Nigga.