I’m sorry,
I was angry — you know what that was like, don’t you? The uncertainty, the danger, the helplessness? Maybe if I’d been older I’d have made a better choice, but I can’t go back anymore than you can. I can’t save them, I can’t stop what happened.
But wouldn’t you have done the same? If it had been one of yours? He asked me to go, and I had to. That was practically my brother, you know what family means to me.
You know how it was — you know what they’ll do to me if you take me back.
[…]
So I’ve left New York, I’ve gone out west — back home. Don’t come looking, don’t ask my folks’. I’m staying with an old friend and his grandmother on the mainland, and I won’t cause you or the camp any trouble. Just […] just forget you ever met me. Tell Chiron or whoever’s running things after the shit show in manhattan that I’m dead.
I’m sorry. For everything.
Sincerely,
O. H. Monroe
