A Message for Emile

by Allen Arias

 

Dearest Emile,

 

A lot has changed since you began traveling, cherished one. Certainly you heard a bit through our relatives and friends, but now I’ll recount the primary perspective. Before I begin, I apologize for all I did. Remembering the trouble I put you through makes my  heart sincerely ashamed.

I’ll explain the fundamental ideas I trusted first. To quickly summarize, I thought destiny was inescapable. Parents determine paths for their offspring through names, and our names shape our futures. Those who are given  inane names could never succeed. Ike, Bob, and similar names are omens for unfortunate lives. Who names their child Jim?  Plain stupidity.

The title I was given instilled pride. Lou, short for Louis, a king’s moniker. The promise ensured finishing college, leading a large, worldwide company, and leaving lasting impacts. I honored the title and the promise represented, despite  those two promises stressing a child until only its  irksome conduct remains.

I reminisce about the first evening when I described for you how I saw the world, the one spent under the track field bleachers. You replied using  your signature calming stare, conveying you doubted the truth the words carried. You shook the foundations I stood on , and I chomped my fingernails anxiously. You didn’t get irritated, the way other folks might. Instead, you grabbed  my hand and gripped tight. Infatuation immediately proceeded, cherished one.

You and I often accompanied one another afterward and the adoration blossomed. The companionship changed a lot about who I was too. You got close, and the anxious bites stopped. I  didn’t have to explain too often because you noticed all I didn’t say using words. I tried  replicating you in myself because nothing seemed complicated for you. Makes sense, considering you are Emile.

You illuminated the world, but you couldn’t cover all the shadows. I couldn’t shake the beliefs regarding names determining our futures, and I constructed a wall between you and I. The event which broke our companionship was the one woman telling you she loved you. She was May something, a title for a peasant. I spoke and hoped you would end convinced that you merited someone who could match you. I could sense anger  had been heating you for a while because you replied yelling, using a sharp voice I had never heard. “The worldview which you believe brings dangerous results, and you  will be ravaged until you learn.” You stormed off after. I cried out for you, but you didn’t respond. You and I didn’t speak for a long stretch following the event, and the silence was devastating.

You and I spoke again the day you uncovered plans I had not known, primarily leaving the country after finishing college. I was shocked, naturally, because you had never mentioned anything about departing. I thought I had knowledge about all matters regarding you, so I was surprised. I tried showing genuine support, but my heart ached knowing I wouldn’t see you again for years, and not understanding why you hid something so extremely important.

A month passed, and off you set. That’s all for the details you experienced. I refreshed you, now hopefully the remainder makes sense.

The trouble began a few years ago, while I was arranging for a driver’s license. While filling out the necessary forms, I put “Louis” as my title. The instant Mom and Pop saw, they  were befuddled.

“Why Louis?” Their inquiry was seemingly illogical. Was I not named Louis? Their reply: “Not Louis. Lou, that’s all.” I couldn’t believe those words. I was wrong about who I thought I was, and the realization broke the world I had built for myself. Nothing but Lou? Plain stupidity.

“Why Lou and not Louis?” I asked desperately, begging for understanding.

Pop laughed, finding the situation funny. “Lou rings pleasurably. Great grandfather was named Lou, and his grandfather too. I suppose you are Lou III.” I tumbled, knees hitting the floor, anguish attacking my  heart. I essentially heard nothing but “Die already.”

For month after month I despaired. The missing encouragement for a continued existence destroyed all I had. I stopped working, and the supervisors reprimanded again and again. Mom and Pop couldn’t stand my  sorry state. I ate my fingernails, reminiscent of the early college times. The daily motions got too heavy, and one day I stole the family’s car and ran.

Without a clear destination, I was satisfied driving north and south and north again. I bounced between borders, surviving off the small money and meals I could salvage through any odd job. Through the whole journey, I thought about you, cherished one. I thought about the declaration, how you predicted the beliefs I gripped could bring forth a disastrous consequence. Why didn’t I  heed the caution you offered? I imagine you are humored now, reading about this directionless wandering.

After recognizing the insight I ignored, I was still without faith. Was I correct about destiny and did I already have one leg under the earth? Was I incorrect, stuck without a new purpose, directionless forevermore?  The search’s end slipped further and further away everytime I found small clarity, which brought new and crueler despair. I reached a low point squatting in a beachside village, and desired a holiday under the waves closeby.

Fortunately, I was obviously distraught, and two coworkers—one an old woman and the other a young woman—invited the sorry lad for a drink. The gesture was the minimum, but meant a lot considering I was suffering alone until the women arrived. The two asked about the troubling issue, and I uncovered all. Their response was chuckling, but not condescension.

“You are quite odd, I would say,” the old woman shouted out. “You’ve given names undue power. You receive a title, but it’s not all you are. And another thing, destiny never remains inescapable. Our Earth was shaped through miracle after miracle. History books are never written without those phrases!”

The young woman clinked her drink. “The old bat usually babbles, but her sentiment was sound. Appease the heart above all other imposed paths, and it’s not necessary to accept something you couldn’t stand. Names cause grief? There exist methods for changes!”

These women thought their words were nothing special, but I saw the two far wiser. For the childhood years, I thought a moniker decided people’s lives and successes. I thought the way one lived fulfilled was being the title, and the regal one the world desired. Now I realize I couldn’t accept neither the title nor the destiny. Those two coworkers named Carol and Mindy saved someone. I was shown you could conquer a challenge your own way while remaining someone who maintains pride. Did you try showing the lessons all along? Perhaps why you got mad, and why you didn’t mention you leaving was because of the misunderstanding I had? The one way I can claim certainty are the answers you provide.

I drove, returning to where I’ve known belonging. I’ve changed a lot since the journey. I own new clothes, a new voice, and I’ve ditched the old title. I found the resolve, now I’ll survive in the way which brings pride. Hopefully it’s the way which makes you proud sharing affection. May you not end discouraged after reading this, because I’ll spend the years waiting for you.

 

Yours now and forever,

Lindsay