November 30, 2012

Dear Gilbert,

When I got home today, Papa was waiting for me. As was reaching for the door handle, the bus driving away in a swirl of dust and road pebbles, the door opened. Papa stood there, arms crossed over his chest and a grave look on his face.

"Mathieu… Will you talk with me, please?"

I've always felt that Papa understands me better than Dad does. Even when I was younger, Papa had always been better at communicating with me than Dad. He's always seemed to understand me better. Still, I never really talked to him. From first grade, when I had been troubled, I never went to my parents like Alfred had. Never ran up to them with my problems when I needed help.

I always went to you, Gilbert. When I needed a shoulder to cry on, when I wanted someone to talk to, you were the first person that came to my mind.

Maybe because I felt like you were the only one who would really listen.

Because of that, I've never formed much of a relationship with my parents. So when Papa told me to sit, told me that we needed to talk, I wasn't sure how to react.

"L-Leave me alone." I tried to shift to the right so I could walk by, but Papa caught me by my shoulders with his strong, but gentle grip.

"Please." He looked down at me, his eyes pleading and his mouth set in a firm line. He didn't seem to show any sign of moving over, letting me move past. Slowly, I nodded.

Sitting on the couch in our living room, he patted the spot next to him, and I hesitantly sat down.

"What is going on, mon cher?"

Gilbert, how was I supposed to answer that? Even I don't know anymore.

I shrugged.

"Your Dad and I are worried about you, Mathieu," he said quietly. "All I'm asking is that you tell me."

I shook my head.

"Mathieu..," he sighed, putting his face in his hands. "Dad is about ready to send you away from here. Thinks it will be good for you to get away. I don't know where he wants you to go yet, but I don't want that to happen."

I tried to look a bit surprised, like I hadn't already known from their previous conversation that Dad wanted me gone. A long silence ensued, wrapping me up in my thoughts. Leaving? The idea hurt. I couldn't imagine leaving the town that I had grown up in for more than a week at a time. The town that I had met you in. All the memories.

"Mon petite, I just want to understand."

Blinking back tears, I stood. Looked back at Papa, whose head was still in his hands.

"So do I."

Forever yours,

Matthew