Dear Craig Thompson,

“Happy Birthday, Blessington.” My girlfriend of two months handed me a large, limp box on December 18th, 2005 that I could only guess was a book. We had been dating for about a month at this point, and even though we’d have known each other for years, this was a new venture for both of us. She kissed me clumsily in the manner that all teenage romantics know by heart.

“If you bought me A Tale of Two Cities, I’m going to be very unhappy, Heidi.” As my arm beckoned for attention as I was both afraid of the size of the book, and ashamed at the fact that I rarely read anything past Wired Magazine and PC Gamer. Maybe it was divine intervention that Heidi bought me Blankets, and Illustrated Novel, which made me smile.

I read it when I got home at twelve with that same smile of tranquility. “Illustrated Novel, huh? Maybe Two-Face will make a cameo.” I called Heidi on her cell phone at two in the morning after many readings.

When I was twelve, my father died from a long bout with a brain tumor that had been his everything as far back as I can remember. Having that happen, for the longest time waking up was the hardest part of life. If I woke up, it’s have to be real. I couldn’t face anything. I couldn’t look into my mother or older brother’s eyes for the longest time; my life became a shell. My mother had a boyfriend which she soon married. My brother was already a teenager; he had learned to be completely self-reliant. And I was stuck. Through middle school, I’d just go through the motions.

I met Heidi freshman year, and the gravity of life seemed to lighten. Spending time around her eased my reluctance to life, my reluctance to really see and be seen. I grew up more in the years following her, imitating her, than I could have ever hoped on my own. I loved her, but most importantly I wanted to be with her. Heidi was a being of light, shimmers that would blind Gabriel.

Our dates were awkward; cursing our stupid mouths had become common place. Ineloquence matured into joy as we settled into our inadequacies in romance and in life. A middle ground we settle on was song, and many nights were spent sitting in chairs, singing.

When I called Heidi on a snowy morning of December 19th, before the sun had risen, I was afraid that this was all over. She told me that she found this book shortly after her parents had divorced, and it helped her cope with life, knowing that satisfaction can be found in simply being alive. And in being alive, doing what you want, not because of how it will turn out, but because of what it is at that moment, can lead to happiness.

Blankets started the long road of unraveling the shell that had kept away the joy, along with the pain, of life. The first noble truth preaches that all existence is suffering, and this novel made me feel not so alone in my suffering. I started honestly connecting with Heidi, with my family, with my mother. I was able to face the death of my father; I could remember him without sorrow. Eventually I took counseling as the significance of no longer being a little boy in a shell of denial hit me.

I write indebted by the redemption you have brought upon me. The sheer compassion of this novel is only shadowed by its art. Heidi is still able to disarm me with a smile, as we continue to love each other today, two years after I read your book and almost cried in fear that everything I knew would be gone. Thank you, Mr. Thompson, because of you it wasn’t an ending, but a beginning.

Sincerely,

Brian Blessington

 

12th Grade
Eagle River High School, Eagle River, Alaska
Teacher:  Sonnet Farrell