Letters From Home

words Liesel Schmidt image New Africa/Shutterstock

Hello,

My name is Brian. I am 10 years old. This is my house, and we are moving away today. I love this house, and I wish we could stay. My mom died last year. My dad says we need a new house now so that it won’t be so hard. I miss her. My dad misses her, too. Sometimes he still cries at night when he thinks I’m asleep. Maybe he won’t anymore when we move. I wish I could make him feel better. Whoever you are, I hope you like this house as much as I do. It is a special house. We used to be very happy here. I think you will be, too. Maybe you could write and tell me if you are happy.

Love, Brian Wright

Abbie held the letter in her hand, wondering how old it was. The paper was stiff from dampness that had come

and gone several times over, drying out to leave it feeling almost brittle. Thankfully, the writing was still legible, though the blue ink had started to bleed slightly and was almost transparent around the edges. The envelope gave no indication of anything, and there was no date anywhere on the page. Still, she thought it must have been left by the last occupants of the house.

She’d only moved in last week, coming across the state from a much smaller town where everything seemed almost suffocating. At least it did for her. No one looked at her the same anymore, not after she’d left Peter. But how could they expect her to stay with him after he’d done what he’d done?

Abbie shook her head and studied the letter again. It was such a sweet letter. And so sad. She hoped that the boy who had written it had found happiness again. She looked up and made a visual sweep of the room. So many boxes to put away, but still, an astonishingly small amount of stuff to call hers. Especially in this house. With four bedrooms, it was far too big for one person; but she’d loved it when she had first seen it. It was ridiculously inexpensive, too—far below the market value, but Abbie realized now why that might have been. Brian’s father must have wanted to sell it quickly. At the price it had been, it was a miracle that the house hadn’t been snapped up before Abbie had even had a chance to look inside, much less make an offer.

But here she stood, the proud owner of her very own home. What would Peter say to that? She scrunched her nose in distaste. He’d probably say it was foolish. But it wasn’t. It was wonderful. And it was all hers.

The letter, though, was something she hadn’t expected. It had been tucked in one of the kitchen drawers, way at the back, as though it had been shoved in there hastily and then forgotten. She’d found it when she had been looking through all of the cabinets, wiping them down and deciding where she might want to store things. Other than the letter and a lone marble rolling around in one of the other drawers, she’d found nothing left behind of the people who had lived here before her.

Maybe you could write and tell me if you are happy. She smiled at the words. Yes, she knew she was going to be very happy here. But how could she write, when she didn’t know where Brian was or even when the letter had been written?

Hello,

We are in our new house, but I don’t think I will ever like it here. It doesn’t smell like home, and my bedroom here isn’t painted blue like I like. Dad says I will get used to it, but I don’t think so. My friends are all far away now, too. I don’t know anyone in this neighborhood. I wish we could move back home.

Dad is still sad. We moved so he could be happy, but he is still sad.

What is your name? Do you like it there? Did you find my letter?

Please write back.

Love, Brian Wright

Abbie had come home from work to find the letter in her mailbox, waiting for her like a new friend. It had been addressed to “The New Person,” a unique departure from the usual mail that read simply “Resident.”

Clearly, she needed to respond to the letter—especially since this was the second one she’d received. To do otherwise would have been cruel.

She retrieved a blank note card from her desk and sat down to write, feeling a bit strange that she didn’t know this person at all. What should she say? She clicked the pen in her hand a few times as she thought, a nervous habit she’d had for years. Something Peter had hated. She shook the thought away and began to write.

Dear Brian,

Yes, I received both letters and am glad to meet you. My name is Abbie Greer. I just moved into your old house. I really love it here, and I can understand why you miss it.

I’m sorry about your mom. That must be hard, and I’m sure you miss her a lot. I lost my mom a while ago, too, and I still miss her. I know that your father misses your mom, but he’s trying to make it easier for both of you without her. That’s probably why he doesn’t let you see him cry. He wants to be strong for you. It will get better.

I moved here from the little town where I grew up, and I’m still having to get used to living in a bigger city. I like it, though. I work as an office manager for a very nice doctor here, and I think I am beginning to love my job. I meet a lot of interesting people.

Abbie paused. Should she say more? She shook her head. No, there was no need to get into Peter. No need to tell anyone that she’d left her hometown to escape the hateful looks of everyone who didn’t believe that Peter had laid a finger on her, much less that he was the reason she’d ended up in the hospital with broken bones. She went back to her letter.

Write back soon, if you’d like. Love, Abbie Greer

Over the next months, the letters flew back and forth through the mail. Abbie learned more about Brian: his favorite foods, his favorite color, which baseball team he loved, what he wanted to be when he grew up. She also learned more about his father. He sounded kind and caring and like someone who was lost after losing the love of his life.

As strange as it might have seemed to some, she loved getting the letters. She also loved writing back to the little boy, knowing that he was truly interested. She’d found her first friend. Dear Abbie,

We have a school holiday coming up, and Dad says that he will take the day off to be with me. We are going to spend all day at the aquarium, my favorite place in the world. I love the shark exhibit the best. Last year, my class got to spend the night there, with the fish and sharks swimming all around us in the tanks. It was very cool.

Anyway, would you like to come, too? I would like to meet you for real. That would be the coolest thing ever.

I have to go now. Please come.

Love, Brian

Abbie stood staring at the sharks, nervously watching them swim around mere inches from her face. She could hear snippets of conversations all around her, catching words and phrases from people walking by. At half-past one, she’d been there almost an hour by now and was sure she’d soon be approached by staff about moving along. But she couldn’t leave. Not until they’d come.

“Brian, come back!”

Abbie heard the voice and turned around quickly, hoping she could find whoever had called out. And then she saw them: the little boy who had been writing to her for months, and the father that she had somehow come to know through his son.

She caught the little boy’s eye and waved. He ran up to her and stopped, his father following a few paces behind.

“Are you Abbie?” the little boy asked with a wide, hopeful smile.

She nodded and returned the smile. “I am. It’s wonderful to meet you, Brian.”