Letter 1 | I’m Extra Lonely Is All
Dear Alice,
I don’t have a story to tell you. All I’ve got is this life I’ve lived, and you already know all about that. Nothin’s been on my mind. Not “no” “thing”—just the idea of it. Thinking of that gets me thinking bad things. Things a person should never want to think about. Could you do me a favor and tell me good things to think about? At least while I’m here?
You asked me to tell you about school so that’s what I’ll do. But just know I wouldn’t want to talk about it, let alone write about it, if you hadn’t asked.
All the people here are different. The rub is they’re all different in the same way. That tends to leave me blowin’ in the wind, but you already know all about that. When you inquired about school, you were talking about the good stuff, right? Well, if you were, my answer depends on your definition of “school.” And “good.” I’d assume you and I think of school in overlapping ways——I can hear Pa sayin’, you know what happens when you assume… Can you hear it too?
I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was going to bring him up. Please don’t quit reading just because I’m no good at doing what I say I will. I’ll tell you about school now, I promise. Just don’t quit on me okay.
I have classes with professors now: no more teachers, just professors. But don’t worry I’m not “going to first” on you. You and I know third is where all the fly balls land, and there ain’t no point in livin’ if you’re never given the chance to catch a fly. That’s what I’m doin’ here Al; I’m trying to catch this fly ball thrown my way with a hole burned in the back of my glove. I’ve gotta catch it just right or face the music of how my life’s supposed to be back home with you, trying to keep Ma alive while locking away memories of Pa. I know I just did it again, but it’s impossible not to. I want you to know, I’m doing all this for us, and I don’t care how many sour-faced first-lacers I have to grin at to get this for us; you’ve always taken care of us, and now it’s my turn. And the really good thing is; I can see it’s my turn, so you know I’ll give it everything I’ve got.
Will you write soon? I’m missin’ all those parts of your mind that make mine seem better than it really is. I’m extra lonely is all, and seeing your pen on paper would make all the difference.
Love, your sister,
Georgie
Letter 2 | I Wish I Had A True Good Thing To Tell You
Dear Georgiana,
I wish I had a true good thing to tell you. Instead let me remind you of good things that exist. I think this will help even if you nor I ever touch these foreign realities (though your odds are better than mine).
Georgiana: there are children with plenty to eat and plethora blankets and bedding to keep them warm through winter nights: they have two parents who love them wholly because they planned for them in their hearts and minds long before they ever breached the threshold into the lovely world. These children never had to earn the love they received; it was simply theirs to do with what they pleased. These children do not know what a contingency is, Georgiana. Their souls want for nothing because everything they could need, and more, is but one call to dear mother or father away. The lovely lives these children lead turn them into lovely people. They carry no baggage into their futures because only the good of their parents seeped into their hearts, minds and souls. Everything foul——their parents shielded them from, ensuring transference of only the good. So, these now, lovely people live lovely lives, and make the lives of all they meet a little more lovely too.
Perhaps, Georgiana, the people at your college are all “different in the same way” as you say because they were all raised as lovelies. Have you given any of them a chance? Did you ever consider they might think themselves invisible to you? You are quick to judge Georgiana: your mind is too swift for your own good. Yes it landed you “a place on the field” to use your child’s metaphor, but I’d bet money that your hubris is the very thing that will get you kicked off the field, if anything does.
I’ll now meet my sternness with some sisterly reassurance. There is nothing you could do or say that would result in my rejecting you or ceasing our correspondence. Your letters are the loveliest part of my week. If I were not your sister I would be nothing more than a half-orphan. The luckiest day of my life was when you arrived: the only likeminded soul in this town. Now that you’re off at school, as you should be, I am seeing what my life would have been if I had been but one with no sister pair. To lose father all alone with only mother’s cold touch would have shuttered my soul shut. There is no one but you, Georgiana, who I most see myself in and wish the most for in this life. In that way I can almost pretend we are at your school together: two lovely sisters doing lovely things.
Speaking of your schooling: I believe your professors know the best course for your collegiate edification. My final advice to you, in this letter would be to heed them and pay no mind to your rebellious thoughts. My sister you are smart, but you have not lived long enough to be wise. Yes, you have seen a lot, too much, but you have only begun to live. I’ve grown to realize that’s the only advantage I have between us, so allow me to share it with you.
Study hard and write frequently.
Love,
Alice
Letter 3 | Some of The Best Words I Have Ever Seen
Dear Alice,
I must begin by saying; those were some of the best words I have ever seen! I know we are blood sisters because I could feel your mind at work in your writing. Dear sister, you are cleverer than you know, or give yourself credit for. To be lovely with you would be a dream.
Now for my life this week… I attended chapel and I don’t know what I’d do if they made us go every weekend. I tried to sit in the way back, but this relentless girl who has a knack for scoping me out dragged me to the front pew. I don’t understand why she has to be the one person who seems to like me on this godforsaken campus. Out of the 2,000 students here she’s the only one that sews a seed of uncertainty in my theory that I’m translucent to all 1,999 of my peers. Do you remember Sandy from the fourth grade who never stopped talking, but other than that she was a perfectly fine friend? This girl would remind me of good old Sandy if it wasn’t for the incessant stalking. Sandy would talk you to your grave, but she wasn’t a creep.
Anyway, I received your letter (finally). There was a small fire in the mail room so they didn’t know whose mail had gone up in smoke and whose had only been lightly charred, or spared altogether. It’s quite the miracle yours survived——the mailbox next to mine was half engulfed. I guess they’re only getting half the story this week. I know that’s a cruel thing to say, but I think it’s cleverness outshines its cruelty. Plus any clever jest worth its oats tends to be funny. In any case the boy whose mailbox that was is juvenile and unfeeling—so maybe the incident stung his nerves into a less Neanderthalic consciousness. But I truly hope it did more than sting. I hope it smoked off all his indifference and left behind an unquenchable feeling of sonder. His current solipsism is detestable!
You’d agree with me Alice if you were here, and could see him in action. I don’t think there’s an ounce of humanity within him. If ever there was: it’s been swallowed up by the mean toad that’s walking by me right now! Alice, he’s like a witch who knew I was writing about him so he’s torturing me with his presence. God he’s just awful. He’s one of those horrible people whose nice to look at, but you can only enjoy them for so long until your mind reminds your eyes of all the horrid things they’ve said and done. He’s the worst I’ve ever seen. As solipsistic as he is he’s double that in looks. It makes me sick Alice. He makes me sick. Certainly not a lovely. What’s worse, he’s clever too! And you know that burns me extra because I’ve never been nice to look at, so cleverness is all I poses as any sort of charm (if it can be considered a charm at all). I know I’m not grotesque or anything of the sort, but I’m no pleasing thing like you, Alice. I think you robbed our gene pool——leaving me high and dry and painfully average looking.
I don’t mean to wallow out loud, a boy like this one brings out the worst in me. It can tamper a soul down to never feel the eyes of a stranger sneak a look at you cause you’re undeniably irresistible to the gaze. That feeling must be so normal to you. So expected. What’s that like Alice? What do you feel when a boy in town, or a man, sneaks a peak at your hair, or your eyes, or the way you glide across the street? It seems like a nice feeling in contrast with the incurable translucence I’ve been infected with since birth. Help me see the world through your eyes; at least a little glimpse.
Give my best to the family.
Your loving sister,
Georgie
Letter 4 | Romantic Love Is Not Everything
Dearest Georgiana,
The family is as well as it can be.
Now to answer your conclusory question in your last correspondence: you’re correct, I have grown accustomed to the darting eyes I receive, but that is all they are, As translucent as you feel, I endure an equal feeling of transience. A lingering look of lust which offers nothing more than what it is. It does not promise a love of my own to call home; rather it promises a hollow hope that someday someone may transform their look of lust into a look of love. At 28 I know better than to wait for such a fabled feeling. I’d much rather spend my time crafting my next letter to you! Or even dreaming of the past; when happiness was still waiting on the other side of our bedroom door.
[If Alice had been born in a different century with different technologies she would have had the following thought]
You know how this life really is, little sister. Through my eyes the world is a slot machine unplugged in the desert. People will always pull that lever even when the machine’s miles from the nearest outlet. But Georgiana, you’ve done the impossible and landed yourself a seat in the middle of the casino! Now you just need to allow your wit to lead the way.
[In the reality of 1852 what Alice actually said was:]
Don’t let your hardened older sister predestine your unique trajectory. After all I only have 2 8/10 decades worth of case files to pull from. You’ll need to develop your own working library of meaning.
That being said, if you’ll allow me this lecture: romantic love is not everything. It certainly appears to be a lovely pastime or even a way of life, but I don’t think it’s something you can choose until it’s been handed to you. Take mother and father for instance: they fell in love in the harbor of youth’s innocence (or naivety) thinking they could equip their coupling well enough to sail through the undertow of adult-love. Mixing adulthood and love is no easy task Georgiana. It takes two clear minds and double the patience between them. Believe me when I say it is okay to have hope for yourself, but I must temper such hope with a practical warning. Your mind is clear and fast as a whip, and I know you will put up with nothing less from your partner (you will find a partner). Patience is the predecessor to such love.
I apologize if my train of thought was at all misleading here—mother and the schoolhouse have kept me away from myself this week. I’m worried Georgiana that mother’s earthly clock is winding down too furiously for me to keep up with.
Keep an eye out for another letter from me this week sweet little sister. Time will be of the essence.
All my love,
Your Alice
Letter 5 | When I See You
[Two Days Later]
Dear Georgie,
Mother has left us. It happened as dawn broke the morning. I wish I were lovely and could tell you she went peacefully and without pain. The best I can say is it’s over. Finally over.
I’ll tell you more when I see you. You should find a train ticket enclosed in this letter.
Love,
Alice
Letter 6 | A Life Worthy of Your Mind
[one month later]
Dear Alice,
I’m sorry for what I said when I left for the train back to school. But mostly I’m sorry that it’s true. I know you know it’s true too or you wouldn’t be on your way here now. But still you didn’t deserve that, especially not then. I should just say I’m sorry, but my mind won’t let me. Why am I so stubborn Alice? You are better than me at most things, but you falter when considering yourself. If we must butt heads in order for you to live a life worthy of your mind then I will rear my feet like a bull every day you allow me to.
I suppose I’ll need to say some distilled version of this to you when you arrive.
Love,
Georgiana
Georgie tore the letter up and threw it out her dorm window. The solipsistic boy walked by as the shards of paper flip flopped through the viscosity of the air. He looked up at her, and she met his eye. There was no hatred or malice just a deep river neither of them were sure they wanted to cross. Alice would arrive shortly.