Love Letters
But Not
A collection of short stories about friendship and love By Merin McCallum
Author's Note My goal in creating Love Letters But Not is to challenge our perception of love and demonstrate that platonic love can be just as powerful and meaningful. It shouldn’t be that people forget or cast it aside. Each short story intends to illustrate a different aspect of my friendship with one of my childhood best friends while simultaneously incorporating a sense of playfulness. Pipe Cleaner Wedding, Puzzling in the Dark, and Calm in a Chaotic World occurred during the summer of 2022 when he and I returned to our old sleepaway camp as staff members. In contrast, the last piece, Winnie the Pooh, takes place when we were campers, during what we thought was our last summer together. We must celebrate platonic love and allow ourselves to be whimsical. I hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I loved creating them.
Merin
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Pipe Cleaner Wedding I’m holding a bouquet, about to walk down the aisle. Well, the aisle is just grass, and the flowers are fake, but all those little details don’t matter because I asked him to marry me, and he agreed. I couldn’t believe that he said yes. I rushed us over to the white tent, and luckily we got there just in time. We looked at each other and laughed as the music started to play. It was perfect. I even had my makeup done for the special day. There were two red hearts, one on each side of my face under the creases of my eyes. My fifteen-year-old makeup artist had done a fabulous job. We hadn’t invited anyone to the wedding, but our kids showed up anyway. Well, they were our kids but also not our kids. They cheered, and that only made us laugh more. Soon the officiate, this time a ten-year-old girl, had us repeat our vows: to have and to hold, to love and to cherish till death do us part. We smiled, and we said our I-dos. He slipped my purple pipe cleaner ring on my finger, and I did the same for him. His ring was blue. There was no kiss; instead, an unspoken promise to always be there for each other. The bouquet wasn’t real, nor was our wedding, but that promise was.
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Puzzling in the Dark She and I sat at the picnic table like we always did. The kids were asleep, at least we hoped, and it was finally time for our nightly talk. It was just the two of us. Exhausted from day one of Color Wars, the rest of the counselors had already conked out. That’s when the idea was born: sneak into the dining hall and work on our respective team’s puzzle. Dare I say it was crazy? Every year, the camp splits into four teams: red, blue, green, and yellow. For two days straight, kids and counselors alike compete head to head in various events to win points for their team. It’s a frenzy but also two of the best days of summer. One continuous event is puzzling. Everyone got the same seven-hundred-and-fifty-piece puzzle. No edges. A repeating pattern. Five extra pieces. Incredibly hard. We all wanted to be the first to finish. The points were important, but so were the bragging rights. Maybe even more so. She ended up convincing me. With the kids attended to by our co-counselors and not a soul around, we made our way to the dining hall and I’ll be the first to admit that I was a little paranoid. I’m a rule follower, after all. When we got there, we immediately got to work. Me at the red table, her at the blue one. Our small flashlights let us see in the dark. Silence, except for the shuffling of puzzle pieces. I don’t remember which one of us texted him, but soon there he was. He wanted to puzzle in the dark too. It wasn't silent anymore. He sat with her at the blue table, chatting as they worked. I can't tell you what they talked about, but I can tell you what I saw. I saw him smiling. I saw her laughing. I saw two people who loved being with one another and who soon would wish the Atlantic Ocean wasn't between them. Six years and I had never seen him like this. I had always wanted this for him.
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Calm in a Chaotic World I used to pretend I was a mermaid. At eight years old, I would often sit on the side of the pool, splashing my legs around as if they were my purple tail. After strapping on my goggles - which did slightly take away from the mermaid illusion - I dove to the bottom and attempted to make it all the way across. Later I discovered my love of floating. Eyes closed, arms out, legs spread wide - like a starfish laying on the top of the water, moving together as one. Last summer, I began to float again. On our days off from camp, our go-to spot was the quarry. Rocks towered over the sunkissed water on all sides, and green trees took up any dirt spot they could find. Fish swam below the surface, barely out of sight, until surprised by an unknowing foot. Immediately, I would jump in, but it wasn’t until the excitement ceased that I lifted my head towards the sky and gave in to the water. I floated for what felt like hours. It was incredibly comforting, how it held me, hugging me in a way so that I knew it wouldn’t let go. In all that time, not one thought crossed my mind. Nothing mattered except the water and I. With my ears submerged beneath the surface, life stood still. My fears and anxieties melted away as the sun danced on my skin. He makes me feel the same way as the water. Calm in a chaotic world.
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Winnie the Pooh A bear sits under the tree. Strong, unbothered, and seemingly unmovable. Perhaps even content as it eats out of a jar in its hands. The jar is conveniently labeled: HONEY, it says. I smile. I remember when he wrote that. With its head resting against the tree trunk and its legs spread wide, I imagine the bear enjoying the summer breeze. It’s as if the bear was made for that spot - and it was. He made it back when we were fifteen. He sat laser focused by the sink, first sculpting the frame out of wire and then plastering it with paper mache strip by strip until every last inch of the bear was covered and not one bit of wire was left. Next came the yellow paint. A gallon jug sat on the floor while he doused the thing. This time I got to help. My small brush strokes countered his fat ones. Yellow paint streaked my legs. I didn't bother to wash it off; instead, my yellow legs and I proudly walked to the dining hall. In a way, the bear looked like Winnie the Pooh. It almost felt too artistic to have come from him, but then I thought about how good he always was at building things, and what first was surprising quickly turned to pride. When I first saw it under the tree, it just made sense. After this summer, our time as campers would be over. Three years for me, but it would be eight years for him. He had been a presence at camp. A fixture. A pillar. Definitely for me. All the nights on the basketball court and sidebars at camp. All our text messages, phone calls, and hangouts whenever we could during the year. He always listened. He became a best friend. I would joke about him being wise. The bear would replace him now, watching over the kids like he had watched over me.
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