This Couldn't Have Been An Email

X X X X X

I don't leave toothbrushes. All the men and women I've slept with, even if it's the seventh or eighth time, I'm out the door, or they are, the next morning. The only place I have a spare toothbrush is Colette's house, and that's a legacy toothbrush from when I was living with her last year.

Time to be hon

X X X X X

There was a noticeable gap in the word. Not enough to split it into two, but enough to stand out against the white paper. Sadie's handwriting became messier, more hurried, as the letter continued onto another page.

X X X X X

est. Sorry, I just got out of my meeting and now I'm writing this in my car on my laptop. I mean, physically on my closed laptop. I want to get as much down on paper as I can before driving back.

Time to be honest. You and I had two wonderful nights in high school, banged like porn stars seven years ago, and last night felt like the end of a romantic movie. That's four nights in ten years, and I'm thinking about a toothbrush. We haven't had a first DATE yet.

I haven't had an actual date in years. My sexual exploits are one-night stands at gaming conventions or going to see a movie with someone and blowing them in their 4x4 behind the Taco Bell. At least I can get a Baja Blast when I'm done.

I'm a slut. I told you this in high school and I said it last night. I love sex. More is better than less, and if people judge me for that, fuck them. Not literally. If I think someone's attractive - male, female, fluid, nonbinary - I have no trouble hooking up with them. Any bar, restaurant, ski lodge in the valley, we're going to run into somebody I've been with. I've never gotten busy in a Burger King bathroom, but there's a reason I'm banned from the Roy Rogers over in Copperton.

All the dicks and fingers I've had in me, and then there's you. If you took me on a date and I told you at the end of the night I didn't want to sleep with you wasn't going to sleep with you, you'd be OK with it. No expectations, no cajoling (again, Google as spell check) or pressuring me, you'd kiss me good night and that would be it. But damn it, Scarecrow, you're the best guy I've ever slept with. I'm not trying to fluff your ego, I'm telling the truth. That dick of yours isn't the biggest I've ever had, but it hits all the right spots between my legs. And don't get me started on your tongue. For fuck's sake, I've had guys kiss my wrist before, but you added a bit of teeth and my pussy turned into a waterpark. Add in the stories my girls told Friday night and you're a sexual Zebulon Pike.

Focus, Sadie. Look, I could have easily added you to my stable of himbos and left it there. But I'm scared because I'm thinking of committing myself to you. And, being honest again, you could still turn out to be a loser.

X X X X X

The smile on Garrett's face from her erotic praise faded at that last paragraph. His fingers tapped rapidly against the counter as he steeled himself to continue reading.

X X X X X

You spent the formative years of your life in emotional status stasis. Danny Eastman bullied you so badly in high school that I believe you have PTSD because of it. His balls-out assaulting you twice since then was the traumatic icing on that cake. You vanquished him last night, and if this was a video game, you got the girl, time to roll credits. But life isn't a video game. What's next? That's the question you need to be asking yourself. Pitkin County might be one of the wealthiest counties in America, but we've both seen our share of trust fund losers on the slopes. You're not a trust fund kid, but if in six months you're still working at Candy by Colette with no plan and no goals?

Then I've wasted both my time and feelings I've never felt before on you. You'd be nothing more than a fantastic fuck in my erotic portfolio.

And I don't want that. Christ, this letter got harsh, and I'm sorry. Colette was right. Everything's pouring out like the spring thaw. This couldn't have been an email. It would have been edited to hell and back, making it as sanitized and boring as a game by Electronic Arts. I want to be your friend. I want to be your lover. And a year from now, I want to have a toothbrush at your place, and you to have one in my apartment. And...

X X X X X

Another change in handwriting. Now the words were smoother and easier to read.

X X X X X

I'm writing this part at my kitchen table -- the sturdy wooden one my uncle gave me after you and I broke the last one. Traffic was getting bad and I needed to get back here so I can finish the administrative stuff and set up for tonight's stream. It's the "Resident Evil" remaster and I can't wait to play it again.

I was a bitch on the last page, but my point stands. You told me in high school I had potential and that you'd bet on me in a heartbeat. I see that same potential in you, Garrett West. Scarecrow. My own personal Cloud Strife. The reason me and my three best friends are Pogo Sisters. I don't want you to waste that potential and I don't want to waste my time with someone who does.

I worked hard to get where I am. My Dad died of cancer when I was in elementary school and my Mom worked her ass off to raise me right. I barely graduated high school and it took me a while to pull together enough money, time, and equipment to start streaming.

People think being a female Twitch streamer is easy. Throw on a low-cut tank top, flaunt your boobs, flirt with chat, and the subscriptions will roll in. They don't know about the abuse you have to endure. They don't see what happens when your sub count dips. Sometimes you have to put the game you want to play aside and play the game people want to watch you play. Stalkers. Parasocial incidents (this is why all my mail goes to a PO Box in Aspen). I pay an accountant to keep me in the black, an editor to clip my streams and put the best stuff on social media to drive numbers, and a moderator to handle both my chat and my Discord server. I have a Patreon to manage, and I'm thinking about starting an OnlyFans to stream obscure video games. "Beyond the Beyond" is one of the worst PlayStation games ever, but if I played it in a skimpy outfit, that's 9.99 a month easy.

Have you ever watched the Void Bunny's streams? She's apparently a one-woman show behind the scenes and has more subscriptions than nearly anyone else on Twitch. I have no idea how that fantastic bitch pulls it off!

Wow, this has been all about me. You have an opportunity that a lot of people our age would kill for. To quote my favorite "Fallout New Vegas" DLC, a chance to begin again. No bad decisions to keep you up at night, no skeletons waiting to pounce from the closet, and friends to be your emergency airbag if you fall off the ledge. The world is yours, Garrett, and I don't want to be there if you waste it.

You're the best pool player I've ever seen. Not only did you hustle Danny out of 75 grand, but you shot S-tier games doing so. I may have beaten you on prom night, but if played now, you'd win nine games out of ten. I could see you going pro or doing a YouTube channel of pool tricks. Maybe open a pool hall. All the pool halls in the valley and there's not a single one in Emerald Pines.

You're also a fantastic listener. You give great advice. You'd make a great counselor. The motto of the Reconciled Church over on Maple Street is 'Sinners Make the Best Saints.' Maybe the traumatized make the best healers? (I've heard that's the slogan, anyway. I'd get turned into a pillar of salt the moment I stepped over the thressholdthreshold)

You're also a top-notch fuck. I might have mentioned that earlier. The look on Michelle's face Friday night when she was telling us about how you railed her against the wall on Spring Break -- if she didn't have a boyfriend, you and her might be having this conversation. In which case you'd be reaching for the fourteen-year-old Scotch. I love her, however, she's more brutally honest than I could ever be.

It's getting late, so let's sell our extra gear and buy some potions from the vendor in the room before the final boss. Everything I laid out in the past couple of pages is the honest, messy, awful truth. I want you. I want to see what happens. But I'm afraid of moving way too fast, and I'm afraid that I'm going to be hitching my star to someone who turns out to be the human equivalent of BioWare's 'Anthem.' And I'm also afraid I'm going to drag you down

X X X X X

The sentence cut off. The bottom space on the page was empty. Confused, Garrett flipped the final page over to see several more lines scribbled wildly across the top.

X X X X X

Sorry for the cliffhanger. We'll talk about it the next time we see each other. Please see me again. Everything I wrote in this letter was the honest truth, for good and for poorer. I wanted you to know where I was coming from.

Call or text me when my stream is over, OK?

- Sadie

PS - I am so going to kick Colette's ass.

X X X X X

Garrett's laugh at the postscript echoed across the empty kitchen. He went back to the first page of the letter and read it again from the beginning. Some of Sadie's words hurt, but she was being honest and truthful, and he couldn't ask for more from her. The letter put everything into perspective in a way only Sadie could - sculpting a block of marble using a jackhammer. "Still a force of nature," he said with a smile.

After reading the letter a final time, Garrett finished his water and went to the garage. He came back in with a small box sealed with packing tape. It rattled as he set it on the counter. A few swipes with a steak knife later, Garrett carefully opened the box, making sure not to damage the flaps. Inside were what passed for his old apartment's "office supplies," which included an unopened box of blue pens and a yellow legal pad. The box joined the pile of junk mail as Garrett made sure he had room on the counter to write.

X X X X X

As the helicopter flew away from the burning wreckage of the Spencer Mansion, the video window in the lower right corner of the screen showed Sadie leaning back in her chair. "And that, boys and girls, is Jill Valentine's ending. Best bitch in the series, hands down."

The windows switched places. Now Sadie, wearing a powder blue tank top and a dark blue tactical beret, was on the main screen. "Looks like I set the chat off with that comment. 'Claire Redfield, motherfucker.' Maybe, but her brother Chris is more of a badass, and Claire is at her best when she's teamed with Leon. 'Rebecca?'" Sadie laughed at the hesitant comment from one of her fans. "19 years old, combat medic, surviving in the mansion by herself, and she's the reason Billy doesn't die... yeah, I can argue for Rebecca. And the first person to say 'Ada Wong is the ultimate badass' gets kicked for the rest of the stream."

Someone in chat took the bait. "Wow, you're brave, KneelPeert, but what I say goes. Say good night. Jill may be the baddest bitch in Resident Evil, but Sadie Plays is the baddest bitch on this stream."

Her eyes darted off camera for a brief moment. Her phone, which she kept silent and off-camera during her stream, had lit up with a text message from Garrett. "You got lucky, KneelPeert, because I'm ending tonight's session here. I've got to go ride a man like a horse. Don't forget, we're starting the Resident Evil 2 remaster on Thursday. I'll go with Clarie's side of the story first. Don't worry, I'm going to play Leon's too."

She clapped her hands. "And with that, denizens of the Net, it's time to step away from the weird and wonderful world of video games and bring this episode of Sadie Plays to its close. I've been your host, the only and one Sadie Plays, and remember: keep playing video games, especially the HD remaster of Resident Evil."

Sadie waved before shutting down her stream and disconnecting her camera and microphone. Once she was offline, she leaned back in her chair, exhausted. Streams always took a lot out of her, but tonight was rougher than most. Not because Resident Evil was difficult. She could speedrun the game in her sleep. It was because she was nervous about Garrett's reaction to her letter.

Her right hand still ached from several hours of writing. She had scribbled the last page like she was back in high school trying to conclude an essay test before the bell rang. Even then, she had barely managed to shove it into his mailbox atop the mess of junk mail and make it back to her apartment in time to start her stream.

Colette had texted that she encouraged Garrett to check his mail. How would he take her words? Sadie had been messy and honest like Colette suggested, but some people didn't take messy and honest too well. Even someone as laid back and, truthfully, as passive as Garrett might be set off by the naked truth. What was done was done, though. She only hoped that she had said the right words. Too bad life didn't come with quicksaves.

Only one way to find out. She picked up her phone.

Garrett: Watched your stream on my phone. Waited until you were done playing to send this.

Accompanying the text was a photograph of a large manilla envelope wedged in the screen door of her apartment.

She raced through the kitchen and flung open the door. No one was on the deck, but the envelope was tucked between the screen door and the frame. Her heart thumped in her chest as she yanked the envelope inside without bothering to open the screen door. It was cold in her hands, suggesting it had been sitting outside for at least an hour, maybe more. She tore the top open to reveal several pieces of paper.

Grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge, Sadie sat down at her kitchen table and laid out the contents of the envelope. The top page had a few words scrawled on it.

Dropped this off, went to the VFW to shoot some pool. Hope to see you there.

The rest of the pages were filled with words written in neat, flowing letters comprised of blue ink. She popped the can of Coke, relished the initial taste of cold carbonated caffeine, and began reading.

X X X X X

Dear Sadie,

You're right to be scared and frightened. I will never poke fun or make light of your feelings. I understand where you're coming from and why you left this morning. I'm scared and frightened too. But I'm also excited.

Let me be selfish and address myself first. You were right when you said everyone else is writing the first or second chapters of their life story and I'm still in the prologue. I lived in mortal fear every day that Danny would jump out like Michael Myers, even though I was down in Orlando. I was afraid he would somehow end up there, at a second-rate pool hall as far from the nicer parts of the city as you could get, and slam my face into the bar for the simple act of existing in his presence.

When I woke up this morning, I felt free. I had driven a stake through Danny's heart, buried my fear, and had you in my arms. I wish I could express how truly fantastic that felt. To be free of my demons, even temporarily, was amazing. The last time I felt that way was when you and I hooked up seven years ago, right before Danny assaulted me. This morning, I knew he wasn't going to show up and ruin the moment. You were that moment. Curled up with you under that quilt didn't only feel free, it felt right.

I'll probably still be working for Colette in six months. But only because she's got awesome health insurance that'll cover my therapy, and she promised to help me find a therapist this week. This weekend was a soothing balm for my trauma, but the damage is still there, and I have to deal with it as soon as possible. But in six months, I'll have an idea of what I want to do with my life.

And I hope that you'll be there in six months to help me.

Help me. Not carry me, not be a sugar momma or a drama sherpa, but to be there if I stumble and fall, like you've been there for your friends and like Vienna, Gio, and I have been for each other. And to be there to cheer me on when I succeed.

God, Sadie, you're amazing. You're right that four days in ten years is a foundation built on sand. Maybe we won't work out. Maybe we'll make better friends than lovers. But I want to try. I want to take you out on a proper date. I want to hold your hand as we watch a movie. I want you to laugh when I sing karaoke. I want to meet your family and I want you to meet mine. At our own pace. I have no problems taking it slow. If you want to throttle back, I'm OK with that. This is uncharted territory for me, too. My relationships have been so short they're not worth the full word.

More than anything, I want a future. I'm sick of the past. High school. Florida. Ten years ago. Seven years ago. This past weekend. I want to go swimming tomorrow morning. I want to think about skiing at Sapphire Drop after work on Saturday. Not even skiing, just going up there to visit. That place has gotten huge since I left. It's sprawling over the mountain like the mansion from 'Rose Red.' I want to write my own story, one that doesn't rely on nostalgia or 'what if?' If I can't let the past die, it won't let me live.

You cut yourself off in your letter. 'And I'm also afraid I'm going to drag you down.' You wouldn't be a rock hanging around my neck. If anything, you're a speed boost. Last night you said you don't come with savepoints or walkthroughs. I'm OK with that. You're worth playing blind for. I want to get to know Sadie Bedford, as well as Sadie Plays. You've carved out your own niche in the Internet jungle with no apologies (there was that one apology you had to give, but I blame Kotaku more than I blame you).

You're an inspiration. As a friend or a lover, I want you around. I'd prefer as a lover. And when you're comfortable, hopefully as more. As someone you believe in and as someone whose house you'd leave a toothbrush at.

When it comes to 'New Vegas,' Joshua Graham is my favorite character, maybe because he couldn't let the past go. "I pray for the safety of all good people who come to Zion, even gentiles. But we can't expect God to do all the work."

I'll put in the work. I'll be the best Garrett West I can be. And Sadie, I'll do everything I can to be the Garrett you deserve.

-G-

X X X X X

She had no words. Sadie being struck silent was nearly as rare as her writing a letter. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she sniffed back the threat of tears. "OK, Scarecrow," she whispered. "I'll play."

X X X X X

"Sadie!" Major Richard Mears, USAF (ret), hoisted his nearly empty pint glass at the sight of his niece. "What are you doing in here on a Monday?"

"I finished my stream early." Sadie slid onto the barstool next to her uncle. "I figured I'd come down and grab a beer."

"You've got perfect timing. The Pickaxes won so everyone's in a damn good mood. What are you drinking?"

"I'll take a Lock & Key... oh, come on, don't reach over the bar."

Her uncle was bending over the bar to grab a glass. "Lenny's in the latrine," he said as he poured her a pint from the tap. "This saves you time and him effort."

As her uncle refilled his beer as well, she looked around the bar. The Emerald Pines Veterans of Foreign Wars post was supported by the surprising number of military retirees who called the small town home. A large number of patrons, many of whom Sadie had known since she was a child, waved or gestured with their beers before turning their attention back to the flatscreen TV on the wall showing a basketball game. Several more were packed around the post's creaking pool table in the far corner. She could see Garrett shaking another man's hand. As she watched, the man handed Garrett several ten-dollar bills. "Got a new pool shark?" she teased.