Letters Unsent: Landon

The Coxswain

I write letters that I never send. To say the things I could have said and didn’t. And to remind myself of the rawness of human emotion when it’s unfiltered and without risk. Some are true, and some are merely exercises under the influence of a momentary muse.

My dearest Landon,

I thought of you today and that crazy, inseparable summer we spent staying up too late and rolling out just in time for class or work or to grab some Whataburger breakfast burritos before they stopped serving.

Do you remember that night we ate some mushrooms and went out to the park on the edge of town? It was you and me and Stefan and Jane – and you had it all planned out. We put down a bunch of blankets near that little man-made lake and talked and laughed and drank lots of water.

You asked me to sing The Shady Side of Sunny Mountain and then you got freaked out and said it was too sad and took off running around the lake, moving faster then we thought humanly possible. Suddenly you were on the other side where we could barely see you, and it felt like our merry band was being ripped apart.

Eventually you came back, and we stretched out on the blankets and looked up into the night. And I wrote that song about the stars playing leapfrog in the sky. We thought it was so incredible – the next great hit – but it almost certainly was terrible.

That was the summer we drove up to Dallas for RockFest. We took naps in the bed of someone’s pickup, and you tried to protect me from the chaos of the mosh pit. On the drive home, L. fell asleep at the wheel, but somehow we woke up, and she woke up, and we all were fine.

The end of August approached, and there was a re-entry party. We drank too much, and I made out with Stefan. And you hated me for it. You thought I did it to hurt you, but I didn’t even know I had that power. You were so angry, and I was young and inept and selfish. I didn’t love you back, but I didn’t want to give you up either. Still, it was too late. The damage was done, and we never recovered.

I hope time has been kinder to you than I was.

Yours,
the coxswain

Amazingly, in the process of going through an old box of papers, I found my old notes for this song, in all its glory. Written in 1999.

I’m Not Through Yet

The stars are playing leapfrog in the sky
The moon is playing tricks with my mind
I’m sitting here surrounded by darkness
Alone in the night

Huddled in a ball, wrapped around myself
Lost in the memory of your mouth
You could talk and talk and never say a thing
Just like the man on my TV

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But I’ve got my own inner peace
It comes from the grass beneath my feet
I pluck a blade and light it like a cigarette
No, I’m not through yet

I crawled up on the shore on my hands and knees
Drenched from the sea of anxiety
But the sun was tired
It would not dry the damp from my skin

I searched for the angel I saw in my dreams
She turned into dust right in front of me
Whispered come with me
And I’ll take you to a higher place

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