November 16th, 2019

Tommy has not been returning my texts over the last few months.
I tried email. Even snail mail.
Still, nothing.

So I went to see him in person again.
I don’t think he has changed his clothes in weeks.
Perhaps even months. It’s hard to keep track of time anymore.

I could tell Tommy was happy to see me—and yet—his smile felt a bit forced.

I worried that maybe he was still mad about some of the comments I made online.
Surely Tommy wasn’t the type to hold grudges. He is always telling me that “If a lot more people loved each other, the world would be a better place.”

I try to throw us into our old banter by trash-talking the contemporary cinema scene. But Tommy makes it clear he does not want to talk about it.
He only wanted to make small talk.

We talk about my dog. But despite how chipper the conversation was, I felt an intense sadness coming from Tommy.

Did he lose a dog? Was he a victim of dog aggression? Did he hate dogs?
Did he hate me?

But just as soon as the thought passed through my head, I saw Tommy smile.
The anxiety faded away as Tommy’s unforgettable laugh washed over me.

June 19th, 2020

4 Months into the COVID-19 pandemic, I have been unable to eat or sleep. I am so worried about Tommy.

Even though Tommy never reveals his age, I think it’s pretty obvious.
Based on his love of WW2 films, I think it’s safe to assume that he is in a “higher risk” demographic.

I find myself staying up late, sitting at my desk, recalling the tagline for The Room. “Can You Really Trust Anyone?”
I write it in my journal over and over again, until I fall asleep at the desk, holding my cramping hand.

As I walk through the supermarket, I spot people touching the fruit and then putting it back. My hand twitches, aching for my journal. “Can I really trust anyone?”

Tommy and I are alike in so many ways. We both have trust issues that stem from the loss of a romantic relationship. We are both introverted-extroverts, cherishing our privacy while relying on social interactions to fill our cups.

If I am struggling, I feel safe to assume that Tommy is too.
I text him regularly to check in. I am very regular.
I receive few responses.
I wonder if perhaps there is a greater existential angst occupying his time.

With Tommy’s livelihood dependent upon the collapsing entertainment industry, I decided to send him my stimulus checks. I don’t need money. I can live off of peanut-butter and jelly. My insatiable stomach can only be filled by knowing that Tommy is thinking of me. That he cares for me.

2 weeks after sending him my stimulus checks, they were returned.
But they had been opened.
Bits of crusted honey were on the envelope. I began having paranoid delusions that he has been captured by bees.

Luckily, the anxiety stops a few days later, when I received a package in the mail.
It’s addressed to me. He is thinking of me.

He sent me a care package containing a signed DVD along with a signed headshot.

“To Emily”, he wrote. “Be Good”.
It was signed with Love.

I love you too, Tommy. I’ll do whatever you ask. If you want me to be good, I’ll be the most good person on the planet, and I will destroy whomever stands in my way of it.

March 23rd, 2021

Tommy. If you’re reading this. I miss the sound of your voice.

I have laid awake every night, thinking of you until I cry myself to sleep.
It feels like my eyes will flow down my face on a river of tears.

My friends can’t stand it. I’m not myself when I’m separated from you.

My friend Kat bought me a bobble head of you for my birthday, along with a copy of Attached, the book about attachment styles. She said that I need to begin working through my anxious attachment style.
But the more she speaks, harder it was to hear her. I began ruminating on Tommy, and Kat’s voice faded further and further into the distance.

I replayed the same words in my head, over and over.
”He didn’t send a card. He didn’t leave a voicemail.”
I try to convince myself that something came up, but ultimately I feel as though you just didn’t remember my birthday.

I’m jolted back into reality as Kat pressed the little red button at your feet. The bobble head’s feet.
Your head began to shake. Mine followed. Our eyes were locked as our heads move in synchronized chaos.

A voice came out of the speaker at your feet. But it doesn’t have the warmth of the man I know.
Knew.
Of the man I knew.

The voice is mechanical. Tectonic. It’s as if your voice was speaking to me, but your soul was severed.
If this plaster recreation is the closest I will be to you, then I will cherish it forever. I am willing to wait for your soul to reintegrate with the red button at your feet.

PS: I got the vaccine.
Are you proud of me? I overcame my fear of needles. It was terrifying, but I needed to show you that I could change.
I am always willing to change for you.

March 25th, 2021

Tommy.

Please.

Im sorry.

I was so excited about my new bobble head. I showed it to my dog.

My motivations were innocent.

I just wanted to take some photos of my favorite person (Tommy) with my favorite dog (Emma).

How was I supposed to know this would happen?

She’s never done anything bad before.

Emma began smelling the bobble head,

She got really close and began to admire it’s craft and beauty.

And then…

She…

Well she broke it.

I can’t even say her name anymore.
Every time I try to speak, the only thing that comes out is “Lisa.”

Because she has betrayed you—and by extension—me.

I am fed up with this world we live in.

October 22nd, 2022

I always knew you would eventually forgive me

But for some reason I feel like there is an invisible barrier between us.

One day I hope you can learn to trust me again.

I came up to you and showered you with compliments—telling you how good you smell.

And you just laughed your usual laugh and said “Do you want me to sign your poster?”

So we're back to small-talk now?

I want us to get past the small talk and have long, intimate, meaningful, vulnerable conversations.

I love you, Tommy.

I love you.

I love you.

💖

I’ll see you soon…

October 6th, 2023

I feel like the barrier between us is growing bigger by the day.
My love for you has only grown, but why do I feel like you’re pulling away.
After all these years—I thought we were better at dealing with conflict.

I have tried texting my friends about it.
They have questions about the way you treat me.

They just don’t understand what we have, Tommy.
How could they?

They don’t see that when you signed my poster, you drew TWO hearts.
It must be hard for you to have so much love.
You’re just trying to protect yourself—and I don’t blame you.

The beautiful thing about glass is that love can shine through it.

March 14th, 2025

I had a realization that showering only becomes a chore when you have no place to go.

I took a shower for the first time in months. I was disgusted to see how much dirt came out from under my fingertips, even before scrubbing. The simple act of my skin coming in contact with water felt foreign and novel.

I went to my old storage unit. The last remaining bastion of my life on the grid. I scavenged for any article of clothing that would convince the people of New York that I was sane. I want to be inconspicuous. No one should look at me. No one should talk to me.

No one, except Tommy.

He’s the only reason I decided to allow myself to be in a crowd again. After months of living off the grid, it was shocking to hear people’s voices. Someone bumped into me on the street. “Pay attention!” they cried out. It felt as though they were speaking in a foreign tongue.

I was on high alert as I entered the theatre on 12th street. So many people all in one space. Aren’t they worried of an Electro Magnetic Pulse? It could happen at any second. In the blink of an eye, every electronic circuit would cease to work. Computerized cars won’t be able to break. Cranes will drop shipping containers out of the shy.

It took time, but I finally cracked the puzzle of why Tommy was behind plexiglass. He knew the truth. He had been trying to alert us, but the public didn’t want to hear it. But I did my research and became enlightened.

The hardest part of being off these past 524 days has been not being able to hear more from Tommy. I know he is leaving clues about when the EMP will hit, but I can’t access them without being on a smart device connected to the Internet. It’s such a double edged sword.

That’s why I have been waiting to see you in person. I need to know where your bunker is, so we can be together in the after-times.

I got my next code, but I haven’t been able to crack how that translates to coordinates. Give me a bit more time and I will meet you there.