A Love Letter to Wauwatosa East High School:
My beloved Tosa East,
I awoke early this morning, shaking and afraid. I felt physically as if I had just had one of my vital organs hastily removed. What was this part of me that was missing? The truth hit me like a horse-drawn carriage. I was missing you. Four days is too much, my love. If there is ever a “snow day” again during my precious time with you, I will refuse. Our love is no match for the elements. Our love could melt away the snow. I finally understand Jane Austen’s sentiments when she wrote of being bewitched by your own love for another. Tosa East, you are, and I say this from the bottom of my cold, dead heart, the Mr. Collins to my Elizabeth Bennet.
Not a day passes where I do not long to be lovingly embraced by your windowless walls. I do not need the sun; you are my sun. You are the light of my life, my reason to live. If I ever, for even the briefest of moments, feel isolated and cold, the warm glow emanating from your yellowed paint reminds me that I am never truly alone.
When my mind wanders, and my intuition lacks, you are always there beside me. I look upwards, and I hear you, whispering, reminding me of what has to be done. There is nary a day I have forgotten that “Raiders are quick and focused,” or that “Raiders wash their hands.” It is in these gentle reminders I am aware of your presence. The globe shaped security cameras, glittering like your eyes, only reassure me that you are always watching.
You may rest assured that your presence is always heavily felt in my life. Yesteryear, as a token of your love, you presented me with the loveliest of Acer chromebooks. This book, almost as beloved to me as you are, is always at my side. A greasy, slow-moving reminder of your kindness. When the click and drag function on this treasured gift of mine ceased to function, I was devastated, at first. I then realized that this was just metaphor for our relationship. You are a fickle one, my friend. By providing me with a mouse, however, (the most thoughtful of follow-up gifts I must add) you reassured me of your unconditional love and generosity.
It is, in fact, the times I expect it least that you choose to draw attention to your constant presence. Just the other day, while I was out taking a stroll through your charming locker rooms, I felt a drop of cool water fall upon my hair. I looked up, and gazed upon the most wonderous displays of water damage I had seen in quite some time. I would have missed this breathtaking sight, had you not charmingly reminded me to pause and appreciate the true beauty of your existence.
Your true beauty, so expansive in its nature, often deafens my senses and leaves me unable to appreciate every aspect at once. Is there an existence in which I will be able to smell the rubber and body odor of your weight room, feel the cool water on the pink hall passes, hear the sharp tone of your bell, and process the explosion of the color red all at once? Answer me this. Can a mortal possibly handle your full presence without falling into a sensory overload induced comatose state?
Wauwatosa East, my dearest. Five days a week is not enough. Four years is not enough. A lifetime could not even be enough for me. There is no other way to describe my love for you except to say that I, a meer mortal, bleed red. In no way is this a romanticized declaration of love either. The other day, I cut the skin on my left ring finger (where I hope to one day wear your ring) to test the boundaries of my own sentiments. Alas, my blood is, and will forever be, red for you.
Yours Truly,
Ingrid