The Major Lift. Rewrite one.

A Letter Under the Closet Door.

'Dearest Aro,
I miss you every day. Here across the country, I grow evermore wiry of the company, among my straight peers and family. I lament heavily our parting on the terms we did. If you can find it in your heart to forgive the things I said and the things I did and didn't do. I have loved you as ever but I hope you can go forward keeping in mind that I can't ever engage these feelings. It's unlikely I'll ever come back, my dear, but if we ever meet again, let it be at a time when you are happy and fulfilled. Let me see you be yourself and let me see you loved. Go and discover the body that makes you shine and is yours because I'm tired of seeing you in so much pain. I am truly sorry to put all this in a letter of all things. Please be happy, darling. Be you.
Yours,
Ally."

Aurora, if asked wouldn't describe her home life as comfortable, not exactly. More like playing a part. The part she had to play, especially for her dear mother Dianne, was the heterosexual, cis-gendered, ultimately good-natured young woman who would eventually begin to show interest in other men. The part she was assigned in the family unit fit her about as well as her younger brothers underwear. Having never been real fantastic at acting, this truly did exhaust her. If asked, she would say that she preferred it when she was on campus or at Grahams music store helping with the lessons up stairs, basically anywhere else but home. But every day, especially now she remained single, she always had to return eventually. And when she did, she donned the get-up, the happy face, the nothing -to -hide attitude and exerted her remaining mental energy to draw as little attention to herself as possible. She often retreated to her room while while at home, safe for family dinner evenings, where she improvised on her guitar or tried to concentrate on her assignments and readings. Tried to do whatever she could to make progress in her degree and keep her mind off of literally anything else.
She knew with the same kind of certainty which which the religious among humanity know their gods exist that in her mothers household, queerness or gender diversity were about as welcome as crystal meth. This only added to her overall perpetual sense of anxiety, which she was a champion at masking for the comfort of her brother and mother. But at that moment, she was unmasked. In the relative privacy of her room and in the quiet of early evening, she stood in front of her mirror holding a loose night shirt in trembling arms staring at the reflection of her upper half.
She wore a binder, a garment designed to flatten the breasts but bookending it was pasty white skin that was covered in many small scars all but one of which was self inflicted. They didn't stop at her waistband or her straps either. They continued down her arms and over her hips and thighs and showed in various shades of pale pink and red as they followed through different stages of healing. For Aurora, the pain of her anxiety and the inevitability that she would eventually have to take off the binder and the metaphorical mask she wore to cover up who she really was, was only ever temporarily numbed by the physical pain of cutting and burning. Years of this had given Aurora extraordinary skill in concealing herself and her bad habits from those whom she cared about despite how they treated her. Her family who despite every effort she went to to deny her true identity, remained family and were supposed to have her back. Sometimes, everything she was trying to do just became too much. And the primary escape was in the adrenaline soaked bliss of physical pain. At that moment, this was all she craved and the trembling of her hands was effort being exerted to fight this, lest this too be discovered to the disgust and horror of her dear mother.
Chris, bless her heart had hit the nail on the head when she said she should give auditioning a shot. Aurora had enough genuine perspective to see it from her point of view. But thinking about preforming even for two strangers and fellow students made her feel sick. She struggled to fathom any reality where anyone could hear her play and think it sounded professional. After all, she was no pro, only one armature with a battered, dilapidated acoustic guitar and a vivid imagination. Just one tiny human with an extraordinary amount of exactly the right kind of pathos. How could anyone else be even a little bit interested. And yet there was Chris, waltzing into the room she'd sought out for some solitude and peace, declaring her the answer to their prayers. It was all a little too good to be true. Her inner voice began to drown her out at this point. Its customary rants of stupid and imposter began to make themselves heard over the din of the inner critic and she rushed to put the shirt on so she didn't have to see herself anymore. She rushed to the safety of her bed and curled up upon herself, pressing her arms across her chest, holding her breath until the ache stopped. She swallowed the bitter taste of the hate and contempt in which she saw the body that housed her soul and longed for relief.

Down stairs, Dianne, Auroras mother held a letter from Alyson shed discovered in Auroras room in shaking hands. She stared at it with a sickening disgust rising within her like bile. To think that putting away her beloved daughters socks had shown her this, something she clearly was never meant to find. But here it was, clear and incontrovertible evidence that her own daughter, whom she'd named and raised to be the lady she was, was a stranger to her. She looked out of the window over the kitchen sink but didn't see the sunset, or her younger son playing with their dog. Her tear-filled eyes were instead looking back through the memories she had of her firstborn for any trace of her love for her own sex, desperate to find some, any clue. But she could find nothing. Had her own daughter lied to her all this time? And worse, was this true, what this Alyson girl eluded to? Had they been romantically involved? How many other women had her daughter slept with? How had she, her own mother never known or even suspected? She knew Alyson, had met her a few times while Aurora had been a teenager. She had seemed such a nice girl. A good friend to her own daughter. How had this gone on right under her nose? The thought sickened her and a hand flew up to her mouth as she swallowed hard. Then fell down and clutched the locket she wore containing the picture of her two children. It was still shaking, but now the feeling fuelling it had morphed from grief to anger. It was a poisonous concoction that flushed her face and quickened her heart. If her husband was still with her, he would promptly have her pack up and leave his reasoning being that she is legally an adult and can make her own way in the world. She wanted to believe that she herself could never be that cruel. But this notion clashed horribly with what she now knew about the little girl who currently studied upstairs. Her own dear sweet innocent Aurora. She knew with the kind of certainty she applied to the existence of God, that her own daughter could no longer associate with her or the family if this was who she was, if this was the lifestyle she chose. Something would have to be done to help her. If that were even possible. She put down the letter on the counter top and left the room, desperate for something, anything else to do. 

Michael, a skinny, redheaded kid of about fourteen stomped into the kitchen with their family dog, a beagle named Archie at his heels, muddy and cold but cheerfully exhausted. His knees gras stained and his soccer ball scuffed and marked up, he doffed his shoes at the back door and left the ball beside them and sauntered into the kitchen. Mum wasn't there, but he could smell a chicken cooking in the oven. He smiled to himself as he wondered where Aurora could have gotten to, or if she was even home when something on the bench top caught his eye. Its top line drawing it like a moth to a flame, he picked it up. 'Dearest Aro' it read. His blood ran cold as the crispy air outside. This was one of his sisters letters, he was sure of it. He knew she'd corresponded with that chick after she left the state, they'd talked about it, he'd even listened to her vent and cry over it. He'd promised her he wouldn't out her to anyone most especially mum. Maybe their gig was up. Maybe Aurora herself had left it here and she was lucky that mum hadn't seen it. His mind raced as he ran up the stairs and made a beeline for Auroras room.
"Hey! Aro! It's Mike!" He called as he tapped on the closed door.