A Totally Platonic Love Letter

A Totally Platonic Love Letter
I met you when we were four, still young and impressionable and optimistic about the world. You were a smiler, always bursting into laughter at anything. You had a good laugh, shrieky and gasping and dragging everyone around you into hysterics. I loved that. I still do.

When we were ten, my brother told us we were dating. I don’t know why that bothered me as much as it did. You told Liam that it was none of his business and if he wanted to be a *freaking* idiot, he was welcome to. You swore in fifth grade, but only when it counted. It’s okay, Jude, you said later. ''Don’t let Liam tear you up. Let’s go watch Avatar.'' I smiled shyly and followed you.

When we were twelve, you became my rock. I don’t know how that happened, Georgia, but God did it. I texted you at one AM with random existential questions and you responded right back. You helped me through English and I quizzed you on science vocab. You let me into your friends. You collect us like paper clips, but we’re not paper clips, and you make us all feel loved as people, no matter our problems.

You guessed the summer before eighth grade. Liam was being a jerk again, but you looked at me and guessed, and I had to tell you you were right. And you were cool. You asked me what I wanted, and I hated not being able to give you an answer. You nodded calmly. You waited for me.

You and a few of our friends took to calling me Judith, and I liked that. I could barely admit it to myself half the time, but I liked how you all were fine with calling me girl names. I liked that more than I should have and more than I wanted to, but everything about you and the people you collected showed me the way. You brought me into your conversations about cute boys and tried to hook me up with them, even when I was always against that. You gave me a place where nothing mattered except that I was a friend.

When I felt about to drown in shadows, there you were, coaxing me back. There’s me, you said. ''There’s you. There are beautiful stars. There’s air and light and a whole world here. Your problems aren’t that big. I’ll read your English paper. I’ll help. I’m here.''

Summer before ninth grade. Sleeping over at your house, watching movies until midnight and reading the same books. High school was your dream, not mine; it was too abstract for me. You made me laugh at the world as we lay together, laugh and snort into your pillows as you tried to talk me into whatever it was that day.

High school. God. You flourished, so instantly that I was afraid you’d forget Alisa and Tenley and me and the rest of your collection. You didn’t. You showed us how to cheat on history tests, and brought more loners into our world, and got us the best lunch table in the cafeteria.

And I watched you fall in love. Your eyes followed him, even though I warned you. I just can’t hate him, you said. It hurt my heart to see you like that, a fool despite all your genius. But you returned to us after a time, your heart a little wiser. I want non-romantic soulmates, you decided. Jude, do you mind? I promised I didn’t.

You always have the answers. When I want someone to listen, I don’t turn to my parents; I just ask you. You carve your world around other people. Sometimes I think you rule the earth, to have the control you do. It’s just a game, you said once, ''stopping whatever praise I’d been giving dead on my tongue. Learn the rules and play the game, and figure out when to cheat. That’s all.''

You don’t second-guess me, either. Okay, there are those times when you tell me I’m being extremely stupid, but I deserve it. You never pressure me to talk or share. You already know everything, of course. You know that I’m scared of horses, and scared of myself and the fact I don’t know who I am, who I want to be. I think you know who I am to a degree that I don’t, and while that should be terrifying, it’s comforting. I didn’t know all of this when I was four, but I think you did, and you filled my world anyway. I love you, Gia.

—Jude