How are you? Achilles is sitting on me right now, and I can only type with one hand. He’s a very sweet boy. I’ve been quite bad this week, and only just managed to pull myself from lying in bed until work. There was a girl there a few days sho who looked quite like you, aged about eleven. Her hair color was different but the same shape of the eyes was the same. I felt as if the world wasn’t real for a moment, that I’d stepped back awake into a dream. It was strange to say ‘have a good one’ like nothing was wrong. I’ve never seen you in crowds like some might, only in sleep.
I’ve finished a short story I was writing, without editing yet, but I don’t think I can ever share it, for it is both too personal and too flawed (and the internet forgives neither). I’ve started a list with Mom’s Ancestry account (you can see your family tree there by the way, documenting (deceptively heterosexually) Mom (Mel) and Aaron’s lines, Mom (Jess)’s being under mine) to try and record the most popular children’s names of 1840s New York, because the history of children’s names is my obscure hobby. Asking what you do with your time feels almost useless, but I will always do it anyway, in case you ever respond. What are your hobbies, and how are you liking them, and how are you doing with them? Are you still doing dance and violin? I have some misty memory of you playing basketball, I think to spend more time with Layla, who played it. It is still so strange to me that you stopped doing gymnastics, because you had loved it so much.
It is a very distant fantasy that I’d ever actually see you at work. But if you would like to come, the door is unlocked. Heaven knows I’d have gone home to Eugene long ago if I could. I love you.
With love,
Alice