I Love You Still

Dear Charlotte,

I am sorry for the pain I have caused you. Ever since the funeral, everything has come crashing down on me. I have become keenly aware of how different I am and how different our daughter was, purely because of the way we look, the shape of our features, and the shade of our skin. In the midst of all of this, I didn’t have anyone else to talk to, not even you. I never truly felt like I belonged here with you in this white town, but when I saw you in my college class all those years ago, your bright laugh lit up the spartan room. I wanted nothing more than for you to fall into my arms.

As you placed your hands in mine, they became like rocks, anchoring me to the earth and this community. Your tender embrace made it feel as if America herself finally accepted me for who I was. You were the light that I sought to find. Over these years you have become my lighthouse in the storm, guiding me to a safe haven, sheltering me from critical glances and thoughtless stereotypes. So, when you directed your harsh words at me—I can hear them in my head still, “not like everyone else,” “if our daughter were white,” like blades slashing at my heart—I felt as though I had no other choice but to seek comfort in the arms of someone else.

Early on in the investigation, you said after a meeting with the police that you don’t submit yourself obediently to authority, unlike some people. This only confirmed for me what I had long suspected: that everyone else sees me as different—but I could have never dreamed that everyone included you. I can now though. Because you so obviously do. There is no way for me to find solace in your arms any longer when those very arms have extended in my direction with pointed fingers, a broken record repeating again and again how different our daughter is, how different I am, from everyone else.

I meant what I said during our conversation just now, not about you or your mother, but about me. When you walk out of the house, you don’t have to worry about stares; you’ve never been treated like a foreigner in your own country. You have no idea what it’s like to be so visibly different. And even if those sexist college boys looked down on you, you were able to rise above that. Even if men would never take you seriously, at least America would. I will have to spend the rest of my life proving that I belong to the very community that I was born in. 

So, I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you, but you need to understand it is only a reflection of my anger and agony. I know we have a long way to go, but I have hope that we can work on this together and forgive one another, so that one day we may rise united, a phoenix of burning red, orange, and yellow against a dull white backdrop, and illuminate a room.

Sincerely,

Your love, Josh

by JULIA ARNOLD