Kim; Rated G
2004 ASCEML Awards - 3rd Place VOY Single; 3rd Place VOY Challenge
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Ballard,
I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm Ensign Harry Kim, currently stationed aboard the USS Voyager. Your daughter and I were friends at the Academy -- our rooms were across the hall from each other. I met you both one Christmas when you came to pick up Lindsay for the holidays, but it was a hectic time, for everyone, so don't feel like you have to remember me.
Sorry, I'm babbling. It's hard for me to know where to start. I know that the Captain has already sent a message detailing the circumstances of Lindsay's death. I guess I just want to let you know how much she meant to me.
I had a crush on her roommate at the Academy, so I spent quite a bit of time in Lindsay's dorm room. Disorganization should have been her middle name. Her room was always a disaster area, but she knew exactly where everything was. I once snuck in while she was at a parrises squares tournament and rearranged some of her things. Not like I put them up where they were supposed to go or anything, but the minute she got back and walked in, she knew . . . she knew someone had messed with her things. I laughed so hard. A few weeks later, in retaliation she dyed all my Starfleet issue boxers bright pink. It took me a while to live that one down. She gave as good as she got, I'll give her that much.
I was happy when I found out she'd been assigned to Voyager because it meant I had at least one friend on board. We shared meals in the mess hall, going over our Academy days, talking about who had been assigned where, who we'd lost contact with. The friendship turned into a crush, at least on my part. I was engaged by that time, but a part of me was attracted to Lindsay -- her zest for life, her ability to throw herself wholeheartedly into anything and everything. Yet, at the same time, always that shy kid in the back of the class who never spoke up unless called upon, the one standing next to the wall at a party. In small groups with people she knew well, she shined. In large crowds, amidst strangers or casual acquaintances, you'd almost never notice her. A contradiction, that was what she was, and it fascinated me.
We were on a mission together when she was killed. I kept assuring her that her injury wasn't that bad, that I'd get her back to Voyager. I think she knew I was lying, but she just smiled and nodded. She died right there in front of me and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I lied to her; I couldn't make everything all right and I lost a good friend. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't think about Lindsay, and wonder what I could have done differently. Oh, I know the old clichés: hindsight is 20-20, no use beating a dead horse. As much as I tell myself that there's no using going over the 'if only's', I can't help myself.
I'm not sure what prompted me to write this letter. Maybe I wanted to let you know what a wonderful person your daughter was and how much she meant to me. Or maybe I hoped that I could put some of my demons to rest by writing out my thoughts on Lindsay and her death. Whatever the cause, I know that she wouldn't want us to dwell on her death, but embrace the vibrant, eclectic, fun-loving Lindsay . . . and let that be what we remember.