A letter about Megan Fox
January 17th, 2014
My dearest and only parents,
This is a very special letter and probably also the last one you will have received from me in an unidentified time period. The first and the last one - that is, because, come to think of it, I have never actually written a real paper letter in my life.
But you must be asking yourself what has changed! Well, this is a long story but there is no sacrifice I won't do for you and thus, under the shimmering light of a sole functioning lamp in our old house, shivering from the cold wind, I am starting my memoirs.
First of all, I would like to wish you a long and happy life without me! There will be no one to wake you up at night to demand 100 dollars of cash or help with an almost university-level math exercise. There will be no one to annoy you with endless stories about his school pals and what kind of music they listen or don't listen to. No one to debate for a permission to leave home at 11 p.m., and then, permission received, sit playing video games till 1 o'clock in the morning, locked in the bathroom.
Because I left home. Haven't you noticed?
Oh, I am sure you did, considering that just prior to that I said goodbye to each one of you (you aren't many) and you even responded. Dad said something like: "And buy some vegetables, won’t you?" I am sorry I didn't answer. I was determined to leave and, you know what, those vegetables could have ruined every single thing I have planned out! As if Dad could not buy them himself, no seriously!
However, when I finally crossed the threshold of a place which had served me as a home for many years, I felt like I had done something terribly wrong and so I had to go get the green peas and carrots you were longing for, and leave them right in front of the door, along with this message, which I am currently finishing on the stairs and which, I hope, will remain here until you pick it up. Oddly enough, neighbors were really curious about what I was doing and whether we had a problem with our electricity which forced me to do my homework outside of the apartment at midnight. I told them that this was the case.
Yes, it was certainly a lie! But how could I not say it, if it was so essential to my survival? (You will soon understand why it was so.) Yet, I can't get rid of the thought that what I did was completely immoral, even though I believe that the goal justifies the means. Of course, not always and not completely, but are you expecting me to get into a philosophical reflection, while I am almost freezing over?
Oh, by the way, almost forgot to tell you, talking about lights, Mr. Jackson promised he would visit us later in the evening to see if he could do anything about them. You can just say that it is no longer a problem and invite him in for a cup of tea!
Finally, I am reaching the most important part of my story, because you probably would like to know what was my goal and why I made a decision to part with you forever.
Well, then let it be a comforting knowledge to you that this is not your fault! Or at least, not entirely.
According to you, it was just the way teenage crisis affected me, and you were sure that would pass. You were probably right, as I don't believe that people can love anyone eternally (especially because they all die at some point). But the fact is that this is something a lot more serious than a teenager's passion.
I love her.
Please, don't tell me you didn't know this was going happen. You can't tell me anything right now as I am no longer with you, and, moreover, I would have never left without making sure you understood my condition.
Oh, “a few times” was probably an understatement. I started talking to you, every day, at every possible occasion, trying to break your resistance again and again. But you wouldn't succumb! Wouldn't listen! Or - sometimes - even worse! What a trap you could lay out to me, your only son!
I remember, that once or twice, when you stopped objecting to hearing my speech, when you looked at me and I was entirely sure you understood me, one of you would say: "Yes, this is exactly what I went through when I was of your age...".
Ah! That phrase of yours hurt me so much, that even now my hand is trembling when I am trying to write it down and my heart is breaking out of my chest.
At least I found some support in books. I soon discovered that almost every romantic writer that has ever lived expressed the same thoughts as I did. He, too, knew that his love was unique, and he was certainly a lot more mature than I was. Well, if even the classics backed up my points, how could I be wrong? Nobody, oh, nobody can love in the same way that I do!
You didn't know that, not having as much experience in the field of romantic reading as I did. You could only speak logic! But where was your own logic at the moments when you argued with me? Just think about what I feel towards Megan and what you could have felt! How is it even possible to judge these two sentiments in a same way? Why, Megan couldn't have been more than a baby when you were a teenager!
In the end, our endless arguments had to stop, as you grew tired of me, in the same way all my friends, teachers and classmates did, and urged me to stop bringing up Megan in every conversation.
If you did not comprehend what I felt, how could you say that my love was not true? This paradox was impossible to confront.
Nevertheless, my love invaded every cell of my body, and I was not able to think about anything else but it. I kept on getting distracted from everything I was doing, be it school work or home duties. And you were wondering how I managed to get a burn on my ear, while ironing clothes!
Reading myself, I am getting aware of a small bit of exaggeration in my writing. Yes, there were moments of peace. There were moments when I forgot what had been oppressing me for so long. I thought I had escaped my obsession and felt like a free person. How can I put it? I was ready to even enjoy life once again! Still, always, sooner or later, I would realize that I was keeping the thought that haunted my days and nights somewhere at the very back of my mind. And what a disappointment it proved each time!
The worst was that I didn't get any help from you. You could say, for instance, that I did not know what kind of person Megan was and that I only liked - I am telling you this exactly the way you phrased it, even though it costs me an enormous amount of effort and pain to put this down on paper - her face and her body! But after such slap in the face, you couldn't really consider that I would stay at your house, could you?
Well, I must admit that Megan is pretty, and even - maybe - beautiful. But this is not the point.
The point is that I love her entirely.
I mean not only her appearance, but her voice, the way she acts, the films she starred in, her walk, her clothes, her look, her words! If I looked at her on the screen, I knew what she felt at that very moment and could easily follow the pattern of her thoughts and the real meaning behind the words that descended from her divine lips. If I did not love her, I would have fallen in love with all the other actors in Transformers and the Transformers themselves, just because they have seen Megan in real life, knew her as she really was, walked on the ground her steps once touched and had an opportunity to breathe the same air as her!
But my heart and my mind were full to brimming over.
And then, one day, I found her Facebook page. The first thing I did was to explain everything to her in a private message. I am not sure anyone writes private messages on Facebook nowadays, but I did. And failed. The next day I tried to present my feelings in a clearer way. I said: "Dear Megan, you don't know me but I do. Answering this message is not necessary. Just keep on looking out of your window and one day you'll see someone out there, in the darkness, watching your room. That's me." and so on. And then I kept on writing to her. At the beginning once every week. Then every day. And soon enough it became a habit to bring her up-to-date on each new thought of mine. I can't lie - she has never replied to me, but I am sure that she has read at least one of these texts, and, of course, kept on following my life story, and started to love me herself, understanding what I felt to the very last detail. It just can’t be otherwise.
You, Mom and Dad, wondered why I was spending so much time on the Internet. I certainly couldn't explain what I was doing to you and therefore had to keep silent. Well, then came your usual philippic about how it was impossible to communicate with your son, even though you never really tried to, and blocked my access to my own computer! Now you understand that after this I no longer had a choice!
My dear parents, don't blame yourselves. I am sure you were unaware of the consequences of your actions back then. But now there is no other way for me to continue to exist on this planet, apart from the one I described in my letters to Megan. I will come to the place where she lives and watch her window.
Don't ask for an address! It was very hard for me to find one, as every person whom I questioned on the Web told me he was sure that he knew, yet every single time it was a different town, sometimes - country. So, I have decided to visit every location indicated to me. You are not going to do that as well, to search for your son, will you?
Don't worry! I am sure that one day my quest will be completed. I will find the Garden of Eden and will just stand in front of its entrance, waiting for Megan to reach me from her paradise! That is, by far, the only outcome I can be entirely sure about!
P.S. On second thoughts, in a week or so, my money will probably run out, so I will have to visit you again to ask for more. Could you please leave a few banknotes under the rag in front of the same apartment door this paper currently lies on? I know you don't like giving out pocket money, but this is an exceptional case and I promise I won't ask for more, when I'll be living with Megan. In addition, I am only requesting the price of a flight to the United States with a minor possibility of a train trip to Moscow.
So that was the story of my love and a very abridged one, by the way. I beg your pardon but I have to quickly end my writing here, as it's suddenly becomes so dark outside, that I am afraid I won't find a path to the nearest metro station, and if the lamp I am sitting under ceases to work, I'll find myself in the most ridiculous situation one could ever imagine. To be honest, such early dusk is one phenomenon my plan did not exactly account for.
Oh, and I hear Mr. Jackson making his way down the stairs!