Photography – Cutting Edge – Macy Meis

A Letter

Istood there, in the half empty room. The furniture was covered in dust sheets as though ghosts were roaming about on Halloween. The day was quiet and quaint; a brilliant blue sky juxtaposing the somber mood that drowned the empty house.

My knees met with a field of fuzz below me. Running my fingers through the rug, I reached for a closed envelope.

November 18--

To My Daughter:

You’ve left years ago, yet I can still hear you running around the halls playing God knows what while the nanny tried to catch you. Or how you used to dance around the piano while your mother, God rest her soul, played Beethoven- or something of the like.

I did not want you to leave. You weren’t supposed to.

I want to say you had no right to leave me, but you did. You had every right. I cannot say that I was there for you, nor can I say that I was anywhere near an exemplary father- the father you deserved. I spewed violent things while drunk, some which, as hard it is for me to confess, I truly meant.

I did not want to believe you left me. I denied it for a long time, shaming you, cursing you. But I was wrong. I treated you poorly and inhumanely. I paid no mind to your welfare. I was ignorant and should not have placed such expectations on you; you were merely a child.

But oh, my dear Beau, I am truly very proud of you- and just as happy. And when I saw your smile! Oh that precious smile that reminds me of your mother, I knew it was all for the best. And to think when I found out you were married as well! To a good man no less, from a prominent family in the city. You have every right to thank your mother for your charms. Your grandmother as well; her compassion and determination shines through you.

You must be wondering how I know this. I have done my share of investigating, my dear. Lucille, our longtime family friend, had kept me informed on your well-being throughout the years. Guilt is a rather burdensome companion, for who could only be thwarted by me knowing you were all-right. Only on one occasion had I the opportunity to see you once more. I hope you’ll forgive me for denying myself the chance; I did not want to break what was already healed.

I have seen you smile- for at least once in my miserable existence- I have seen a true smile, just as when you were younger. That is enough for me. I hope this letter will be enough for you. By the time you are reading this letter, I will likely have succumbed to my illness and be with your mother. That is, if I have any right to be up there with her.

I am not a changed man; many of my disagreeable habits still follow me— or rather I follow them. I was simply a blind man, not seeing what was once in front of him.

Do me a favor my dear, please smile before you discard this letter. I would like to see you happy one last time.

A quiet loneliness hugged my chest tight. I sat there, wondering the possibilities of what could have been, my mind spinning like how I used to dance around the piano.

I wish this was what he said.

Victoria Correa, 12

short story