How to Break Open a Clamshell

If You Dare. A Letter

I know you very well by now, as you know me: In broad daylight, we are like clamshells. We close off our spiky woolly feelings and show nothing but seamless façade. This is our default network, polite and pleasant our weapons and shields.

We become softer at night, after a few glasses of red. A bottle shared and truths unearthed from beneath the surface. Every glass a little deeper. At night, we take steps slowly, one after another. If we keep going long enough, we come together. If the night ends before we bridge the distance, we remain alone.

With perhaps less generational and societal conditioning to undo, I tend to open myself up first. You are my clamshell, the most efficient way of breaking you open my challenge. I experiment and, when not with you, I theorize.

One experiment goes awry and you explode. Spooked, I retreat, then write the first of many long earnest letters to you—mental exercises, as your accusations force me to become my own defendant in the court of your damnation. (You think yourself rational but your reactions are the pure emotional instinct of a cornered tiger.)

Another experiment goes awry and you disappear. The second time is always worse. I start screaming into the void of my own mental echo/torture chamber. I have long imaginary conversations with friends, asking for their advice. Still, the echo screams. I didn’t know, it screams. It’s too cruel, holding a grudge this long, it screams.

I know very little but I believe you capable of suffering. I believe you capable of denying positive emotion just to keep yourself safe, out of stubbornness or possibly just misguided laziness.

I believe you capable of forgiveness and great happiness too. No, I know. I’ve seen it before, your face lit up with all the happiness between us and the stars.

It never comes of its own accord, the good. You have to reach for it but it is within reach. Listen to that, I implore you, throw your ego away. If you do, you will gain the rarest treasure for life. You will be as happy as the tea sage in his misty mountain cave.

Author Notes

Sometimes I wonder if being less perceptive would make life easier. I like to think I understand humans pretty well. I like them, I’ve always been curious about them. Characterization and character development is a huge part of why I love writing fiction. The flipside of understanding human psyche, however, is that I often think I know what’s best for others. If Person A only did XYZ, they would be so much happier, etc.

Also, sometimes I write letters to specific people but then I’m too much of a chicken to actually send them. Maybe I should start doing so, as an experiment? Generally speaking, I think we could always use a little more honesty, more vulnerability in our relationships. (And I’m increasingly willing to lead by example.)

Anyway, if you’re reading this, you’re probably not the person this piece is intended for. Please consider it fiction, addressing a fictional character.