Letters to No One

Remember?

Dear Rin,

Before you realize that it's me and burn this letter to ash, just hear me out. Before I go, I want someone to have these memories, to live on remembering who I was.

I know this sounds selfish of me. But in time I'm sure you'll understand why.

So let me start at the beginning. Or in the very least, our beginning.

One of the brightest memories of  my childhood is the day I met you. I remember it was my third summer living in the countryside, because for whatever reason I actually thought we'd eventually move back to the city and kept counting the years as they went by, slow as they were.

I was a quiet child for a rambunctious age. All I'd do all day was help my mother with housework and collect wildflowers from the surrounding meadows in my spare free time.

But one day when I went outside, there was a girl sitting in the shade of the arthritic oak. From my distance, all I saw was a glowing halo of flaxen hair, glimmering in the dappled sunlight. I was immediately intrigued, and approached at a slow, almost apprehensive pace. I didn't know there were other people out here, much less children my age.

The soft breeze blew strands of my sea foam colored hair everywhere, and as my sunhat almost flew away, I realized I was close enough to you that you could see me.

You were staring.

I remember vividly that stare, so stark in the summer sun. And yet, deep in the hues of the skies and seas, there was a kind soul waiting for someone.

Perhaps that day, I became friends with you because I thought it was me you were waiting for.

"What's your name?" I threw my voice to the increasingly turbulent wind.

You simply continued your unblinking gaze.

Eventually, with you posing silently on the oak roots and I awaiting your answer, trying to keep my hat on my head, you murmured "Rin," and then looked away.

In that moment I remember that I felt something I never had before, longing. I didn't realize how much I wanted a friend until I met you.

I remember suddenly being at your side, my eyes burning an image into my memory. "I'm Miku," I said, and grabbed your right hand.

You were crying.

Baffled but determined, I continued. "I'm Miku, and I'm going to help you, and we're going to be best friends!"

That's when you suddenly hugged me out of nowhere, and I was surprised to the point of silence.

I didn't understand your pain, nor how to comfort you, but I did know to hug you back. 
"Can I go with you?" you whispered. "I don't want to go back, I don't want to go back,"  you continued.

I immediately accepted without thinking about the consequences.

"Let's go then," I replied, and that was that.

...

My parents are understanding people, and never had a reason to be mad at me, but I think you remember how they looked when I presented you to them, asking if you could stay with us.

Surprisingly enough though, after a long discussion during which you clenched my little hand like there was no tomorrow, still muttering that you couldn't go back, my parents returned with the decision that as long as you helped with housework (literally earning your living), you could stay as long as you wanted. I felt on top of the world. We looked at each other with eager, happy expressions. You didn't have to go back. I wouldn't have to be alone ever again.

...

Although we were poor, we were happy. Mother made you new clothes to replace your ill-fitting old ones, and loved you like her own. Father took pride in your hard-working nature. Every day when he came home from work, he greeted us all with "How are my three favorite girls?" and proceeded to engulf you and me in a huge hug as we giggled and yelled for Mom's help. She'd laugh at all of us, amused, and then join in the embrace.

We were so happy then, weren't we?

The days went by, then months and years. You succeeded in growing up to be prettier than me, which I lamented jokingly whenever you were in the mood to simply laugh back. I knew by now that the dark scars that marred your otherwise perfect complexion were not self-inflicted, but wrought upon you by the family from which you had run away from and into ours. And yet, whenever I saw the bands on your ankles or the slashes on your back, I never asked why or how. I wasn't sad, I was angry. No, furious. How could anyone hurt such a kind, beautiful person? It wasn't cruel, it was inhuman.

Our birthdays aren't even in the same season, and yet every year we celebrated them together on yours. I refused to have a party and cake unless you were part of the celebration too. On my sixteenth, and your fourteenth, we had an especially amazing celebration. It was all you though. I walked in after having gone out to tend to our garden (remember we would only go to the grocery store in town for meat and anything we couldn't grow or make ourselves?) and bring in some tomatoes and lettuce for salad, and was confused because the lights were off. Was there a storm? I didn't remember seeing any clouds. Was there not enough money to pay the electric bill again? You'd probably sleep next to me for warmth like you always did, not that I minded in the least. Though I won't ever admit to you in person I may have looked forward to those times, hence my love of thunderstorms and the rain.

The lights came on and you all jumped out at me, but the only one I saw was you. I knew you would have planned this. There were decorations all around of stars and raindrops made out of fabric, and instantly I realized you had been planning this for months. You'd been collecting scraps for months without a word to me why, but a sly smile on your bow string mouth.

I began crying softly, but you knew they were happy tears, giving me a warm hug anyway. "Happy sixteenth, Mimi." I instantly pushed you away at the taunting nickname you had given me claiming you hated hard consonants.

"I thought I told you not to call me that!" I replied. But I was laughing.

Mother had gone all out, spending some money she'd put away on real buttercream frosting from the confectionery, which was super expensive, but just happened to be my favorite. I hugged her so hard her back cracked, remember? She still claims it's thanks to that hug she doesn't have back pain to this day. But anyway, the cake was three layers. THREE! We'd wake up in the middle of the night and eat slices of it with Dad and kept it a secret from Mom, remember? 

We were inseparable. We'd spend our free days just lounging in the sun on the grass outside, together, always.

Are you happy now? Did choosing your own path lead you to the happiness you were looking for?

...Have you forgotten about me? Or as I always feared, were we never friends to begin with?