Letter To Nick

THIS IS A LETTER TO NICK

He was my friend.
Now he's dead.
He died of an overdose.
Hearing that was a hard day for me.

Dear Nick,
I'm not coming back tonight.

I paid for two more nights at this hotel - so, no need to stress about getting out in the morning.

You did not offend me - at all. However, you did, finally, wear down my patience.

I was not messing around, not even a little bit. Even if I was, your behavior and speech was unacceptable. It was unacceptable.

Yelling at me - at Will - in public or in private - the way you did today - as if our friendship and time together means nothing (nothing) if the kitchen is super busy.

You did two things: You forgot who I am. You forgot who you are.
You did two things: You forgot who I am. You forgot who you are.

After today, things will be different. They will. My patience for your daily demeanor, speech, and behavior toward me and others, in the kitchen and out ... is gone. It just dried up, Nick. After weeks and months and months, my patience - with you - has dried up and is gone.

What does that mean? What does that look like? Good questions.

I love you. You are dear to me. You have been good to me, and good for me. No question at all about that.

I am not angry any more. That's gone - lasted about 40 minutes.

Next, I am your friend - and you usually seem troubled, upset, or agitated about something. I see that. I care about you. So, for that and those reasons, I give and have given you a lot of latitude and leeway with things.

It's what I do. I see the pain in folks, and I stay with them.
You don't trust me - for some reason - whatever. That's ok.
It's what I do. I see the pain in folks, and I stay with them.
It's what I do. I see the pain in folks, and I stay with them.

Finally, I got you an elephant at Beals. Seems you said something about elephants one day. You said it in way that made elephants groovy.

Try trusting me - speak to me about things. Talk to me about you. Use your words to show me Nick.
Try trusting me - speak to me about things. Talk to me about you. Use your words to show me Nick.

I know my life may seem like it was way easier and better than yours or some others. My family had money - still does. Doctor dad. College. Doctor wife. Super nice GMC truck, that everybody talks about.
I get it. What would I know about a difficult childhood!? How could I relate!? I had it easy and nice - and I got no reason to complain about Mom and Dad.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe I actually had it harder and more painful than you - than you can even imagine.

I am Goddamn serious here.

We need to talk. You need to hear and listen - to me and to yourself - I will do the same.
We need to talk. You need to hear and listen - to me and to yourself - I will do the same.

Maybe, just maybe, you have no idea, no clue, who your friend and buddy is.

Do you know me? For the year plus I've been in quiet mode. I've had to let go of a lot in order to follow schedules, answer questions, talk to fellow clients, and so on.

That's the truth - despite your immediately quick response that doing such is not necessary - ever.

You should have asked me this: "What did you have to let go of, Will?"
You should have asked me this: "What did you have to let go of, Will?"

Nick, you have no idea who I am. What you have 'seen' is authentic, real, and genuine. But, you do not know me.

One way for two people to come to know each other is to share a space together - a living space. That's when you will learn how and what Will is when Will is at home.

I am 50 years old Nick. I gathered some habits and ways and manners that are here to stay - and that are different from yours.

If my harmless habit or way seems stupid or silly to you - do this: Keep your fucking mouth shut and leave me the fuck alone to do whatever I'm doing however I'm doing it.

I don't need any commentary and questions about shit I've been doing and the way I've been doing it for goddamn 25 years, Nick.

Driving in my truck? I got it. I do things how I do them - and arguing with you in the truck every goddamn time I pull into a parking lot is old - so old, it's dead.

Let me drive and handle the truck. You look out the window at birds or something. I don't give a fuck. Just be quiet. Sometimes. For 5 goddamn minutes.

Be quiet.
Be. Quiet.

Be quiet with your mouth - and then, eventually, your head will be quiet - and will stop torturing you - and one day?

You will walk out the free man.

In truth and love,

Will