How are you doing this week? I’ve been faring alright; tired, but alright. Lots more daffodils have popped up around here. I’ve mostly just been dragging myself through things. I did not write on Mardi Gras or Valentine’s Day — I didn’t register them as important enough, but I think I’ve written on Valentine’s Day, so I’m sorry if you were waiting for me. Did you do anything fun on either holiday? I miss the Mardi Gras parties at Charlemagne. They call Mardi Gras ‘Pancake Day’ here and served pancakes in the dining hall, which was charming, but not as fun to me.
I went to Brighton last weekend to stay at a friend’s house, which was pretty fun. Her house was Tudor-era and had big fireplaces you could stand in like Harry Potter. Brighton is on the sea right across from Ireland, and apparently has been a tourist spot for centuries, and it had lots of cool museums and shopping stuff. I found another place selling ancient stuff (the first one being by the British Museum. I still wonder where that store’s coffin’s body is) alongside more normal antiques, which was weird. There was a museum with Dali, Picasso, and Angelica Kauffman, which shocked me because I hadn’t looked the place up.
I had another dream about you last night — I suppose I should tell you about every one, but I don’t know why. Perhaps to show you something of what my subconscious is thinking about you. There is not much detail in this one: Mom (Jess) and I were at Mom’s (Mel) house, but it was our house back in Washington. It felt like it was Christmas in 2016 when we went to your house. Mom (Jess) went inside, and Mom (Mel) seemed to take it in stride. All of us and you sat in the living room. I remember talking to you, but I don’t know about what. You were on the stairs away from me, separated. All I really remember is asking Mom, “Why?” and thinking this time I would get a real answer. That’s all.
Sometimes I wonder why I’ve ever sent people to this website, especially if they’re not from Eugene. Why do I tell when it never does anything? But it’s very lonely here, isn’t it. I think of all the kidnapped kids whose families got coverage. I watched lots of documentaries during the summer of 2016, when you were already gone and I didn’t know it yet. Jaycee Lee Dugard, Elizabeth Smart, and the three girls in Cleveland got news stories. But nobody cares about us. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I wish it weren’t up to you now. You shouldn’t have to be brave, and we should’ve gotten to be children.
With love,
Alice