Over time, my school abandoned the penpal project. We 5th graders were supposed to meet our younger counterparts, but looking back I think the school lost funding for extracurriculars like this.
But that wasn't until I was pretty invested into Eliza's life. Every other day I recieved a letter from her. And she never faltered in her exciteable tone, which made me start looking forward to her letters.
She told me about her house on Folgers St., and how it was the only second story on that side of the road. How she liked cats and fed the strays with leftovers from dinner. Or hell, even how she got grounded for keeping a pet field mouse after it bit her.
The fact that an 8 year old could get herself into so many adventures in our small town in Oregon surprises me even today.
But the last letter I recieved from her during this time was different from the others. It was somber, depressed.
"Dear (redacted),
My grampa died. I miss him a lot, and I cried a lot. Mom says we went to his 'wake'. Im not sure what that is, but the whole family was there. I asked mom where grampa was and she said he was there in spirit.
Either way, I hope to see him again soon. John says we won't, but he's always saying mean things.
Eliza."
I wouldn't hear from Eliza for a few years after that. Every once in a while I'd think about her, hoping she was doing well. Looking back, I should have tried to find her. That letter would be the last semi-normal thing Eliza would tell me.
But Eliza found me instead. How or why still remains a mystery to me today.
YOU ARE READING
Letters to Eliza
Mystery / ThrillerTW: this is based on a true story. Obviously the names are changed for confidentiality and respect to most of those involved. If you don't care for things that are a bit disturbing, obviously don't read this.
