Fabricant451 — Roleplayer Guild

I've just seen a face 
I can't forget the time or place
Where we just met

I have never known
The like of this, I've been alone
And I have missed things
And kept out of sight
But other girls were never quite
Like this, di-di-di-di'n'di
Mentions @Bee

To Isaac, 

When we landed in Colorado you told me that the first time you saw me smile was when we were thousands of feet in the sky and I had my nose pressed against the airplane window so hard it looked like I had a pig snout. I still don’t think I was smiling then, I was just amazed that a tube of metal was able to be so high up. I told you, right? That I’d never been on a plane before? Never really left California. I’m sorry if my nails dug into your hand during takeoff. The plane was so shaky I thought we were gonna die. I didn’t wanna die there because if I did I wouldn’t have seen the blue sky above the white clouds. If we did die then, I think I would’ve seen more red than blue so I’m glad we didn’t die. 

But when we landed in Colorado and you put me in the cab to camp, part of me thought of telling the cab driver to just take me as far as my pocket cash would take me. Part of me thought of running away again. But when I run away the only destination for me is back where I started, back where you found me. In an alley. About to make a mistake for a fix. When I run away, I don’t run from my problems, I run right back into them. I didn’t run. I hope you’re proud of me for that. 

I’ve only been at camp a few hours but I haven’t made any friends yet. I don’t think people want to talk to me, I think they might know about me, my past. I think they look at me and see a monster or something, or maybe they look at me with disgust, like how could someone do what I’ve done? They don’t know what it’s like. They probably talk about parties and weed like it’s the same as a latte. Maybe it was a mistake to come here if they’re going to remind me of things like that. Or is that the point? Surrounding me with bad influences and access to things that will make me go back down the spiral? I dunno if anyone else is gonna write letters but I think doing this will help me stay afloat. Even hundreds of miles away I’m relying on you to be my anchor. That sounded corny I’m gonna erase it. Shit, this is a pen. 

Hopefully my next letter I’ll have made a friend. 

Phil

Phil Coleman had arrived at camp rather unceremoniously in the back of a cab. The driver wouldn’t even help her with her bags, granted her bags were a backpack and a small carryon as well as a jar of cashews - the jar was the size of  35 oz. barrel of cheese balls - bulging under her arm. She was early enough to miss the parents dropping kids off and early enough to just sit in the rec room after being checked in by someone who asked, straight out, “Are you the one with the drug problem?” That was certainly a banner start to what was sure to be a summer she would regret. 

Her arrival meant one important thing: Writing. Phil had never been much for writing her thoughts down but her sponsor thought it would be good for her, a way for her to track her own progress in more than just a recovery method. He told her to think of it like a diary, just one that she would send to him whenever she could. He even bought her a notebook to write on; it had Link on it. She was quite fond of it. What she was less fond of was the orientation video, if it could even be called that. Once the rec room filled up, Phil closed her diary and paid attention while biting her nails that poked through the sleeves of her shirt. 

As to be expected, Phil sat as far back as she could, all the way on the far side, away from other campers. With her pale complexion and thin, light blue hair draping across her forehead she likely resembled some kind of ghost or a weird take on the girl from The Ring. Maybe that’s why no one sat next to her or talked to her before the video or now after. Sure, she didn’t exactly speak up or introduce herself, but the fact that no one crossed that boundary to introduction said to her simply that everyone knew about her and made their mind up sight unseen. Just like when she was in high school, before running from that. Just like everyone who only ever called her worthless, pathetic, good-for-nothing…

The area code may have changed but people didn’t seem to. 

When everyone was dismissed, Phil sighed and decided to wait until the rec room cleared out a bit before making her way to the girls cabin. No doubt she would be stuck with the crappy bed but considering she’d slept on rocky sidewalks and alleyways that smelled of piss and beer she’d be fine having a mattress even if it was harder than a boulder. 

Putting her pen in the margins, she closed her diary and looked up. She immediately widened her eyes and looked back down, then quickly looked back up, then down, then opened her diary and put it in front of her eyes so she could peak out over the top. Standing near the wall, and promptly stepping away from it to...go somewhere, was a girl. A blonde girl. Phil had to assume she was a counselor but Phil hadn’t met her. The first thought she had was that the girl was pretty.The second thought was that she was like, really pretty. The third was confusion as to why she thought that and if it meant anything. The fourth she had to pen down in her diary. 

P.S. I haven’t made a friend but I think I’ve seen an angel. But it’s a girl. Is that weird? 

If anyone would know what was going on, it would be Isaac. But he wasn’t here and his answer would take a week! Maybe longer. Until then, Phil just stared at the girl. Her mouth might’ve been open. She might have had a little drool on the corner of her lips. She didn’t care. She doubted she would be noticed anyway.

But maybe not everything this summer would be a total waste.
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