the most

Hi everyone,

The following letter really is tiny, I promise! I think I wrote it when I was hungry.

On the side, I’m also trying to write a fiction story, so I’ve been unfaithful to my letter writing practice but dug this old one up for the sake of consistency. 

I had a good conversation with my therapist last week. I feel like I’ve been bumming her out the past three weeks, so at the end of our conversation, I told her I would try to be more positive, as a type of apology. She listened so kindly but encouraged me to remain neutral. “Sometimes it makes sense to feel a certain way, it’s your body telling you to lean in.” (FYI, I need no help leaning into negativity, it’s a classic Garcia trait!) 

But the other thing she said which stuck with me was when I mentioned to her that it may seem weird but that my co-workers were also some of my dearest friends. “I don’t think that’s weird,” she said. “People that unconsciously, or consciously, separate themselves from their work people are also helping capitalism become the destructive force it is.” 

Anyway, she’s great! Just two things I’ve been thinking of recently.

and, the dude!

Letter below. Happy Sunday! 

April 7th, 2021

Dear Ethan,

It’s a sunny Wednesday morning. My head is all frazzled today. I need to find your dad’s car (it got towed) and nobody seems to know where it is…

When all is said and done, I’ll probably laugh it off, but just one more thing to make me super anxious when I want a smooth start to my day. Lately, it seems like all I’ve had are bumpy starts. 

I’ll try to be grateful to supplement my anxiety. For instance, what things will I miss when I die?  

Certainly, obviously, I’m going to miss you most. Followed by everyone in our family, your dad, my dad, mom, sisters & brother. Karen and Sarah and Giacomino. My baby nephews and niece. Fiona, Aaron, Andrea, Shalece—my truest friends. I’ll miss the soft thuds of a book as I reach the last page. The warm glow of a candle on a relentless winter night. Birds singing overhead, the remarkable jewel tone of the meadow behind our apartment as spring wakes everything up.  A perfectly delicious, crinkly on the outside, soft on the inside, hot glazed donut. The first tamale out of the pot, half-baked. Sizzling fajitas with grilled tortillas and lime and pico and one perfect onion, steamed whole. The soft folds of a warm blanket that feels like cat fur. The marvelous moment when you realize you can’t see the tips of the trees because you’re deep in a quiet yet peacefully humming forest (Big Bend, Portland, Maine). The smell of banana pancakes when I’m half-asleep, followed by the sizzle of crispy bacon.  

The deep reds and pinks of summer roses climbing outside the wall of my parents’ house, along with the deep candy perfume of them. Watching my mother just know how to grow something, with loving hands and a gentle touch. The soft, bubbling sounds of water falling over rocks in a stream. Unexpected sunshine after a long gray stretch. Pastel-colored pens. Letters from Aaron. The thrill of knowing you’re in love. An empty house and all the dreams that lay ahead. The lives that we promise each other. Kindness from a stranger. 

It all leaves the door open to so much more to be grateful for.                                                                        


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