[b][b]1 ~ David
[/b][/b]
The letter came on a typical Wednesday morning. I was making my usual cup of coffee, and Lisa was pouring the kids their bowls of cereal. Kylie was still upstairs, sleeping over her alarm as usual, and Jason and Eva were running around the table chasing each other. While I was waiting for the water to boil, I contemplated either going to grab the mail and daily newspaper, or going upstairs to wake up Kylie. I finally decided to get the paper, instead of bugging our already grumpy teenager and telling her that she had to wake up and go to school. Although, she shouldn’t have been too gloomy if I woke her, considering that her school ended in two days for summer vacation.
I went out on the porch to the mailbox, and looked around. It was a beautiful June morning, the air was crisp and warm and a gentle breeze blew through the deck. Despite the coolness of the breeze, I could tell it was going to be a hot day. The sun was already high in the sky, even though it was only quarter after 8. I grabbed the rolled up newspaper and emptied the mailbox before going back inside.
When I got back in the house, I noticed that Kylie still wasn’t up. I sighed and flopped the mail down on the table. I guess I was going to be the one to have to wake her up. I trudged up the first and second flights of stairs up to Kylie’s room. She has the whole third floor; it’s just one giant loft that is all hers. Any one in this family rarely goes up there, as to disturb her as little as possible.
I tried standing at the bottom of the stairs first.
“Kylie?” I called up. There was no response. “Kylie! You awake?” I tried again, a little louder. I could hear her bed sheets rustling, and a low moan came from upstairs.
“Do I really have to go to school?” Kylie complained from beneath her bed sheets. “I mean, there’s only two more days left, it’s not like we are going to learn anything new,” she bargained with me.
“Yes, you have to go. What else are you going to do here anyway?”
“Um, I dunno, sleep maybe?” Kylie replied, in a mocking tone. With that, I left her alone, knowing that she would do what she had to and get up eventually, even if it meant skipping breakfast. I went downstairs to enjoy my coffee and open the mail.
I had a few letters from work, a couple of bills, and one other letter, but I didn’t recognize the sender. Lisa came and sat down beside me to eat her bowl of oatmeal. I opened the letter carefully from the unknown sender, not sure what exactly I was expecting to come out of it. I looked down at the scrawled writing, and read.
Dear David,
My name is Amelia Mossani. I live in Sarasota, Florida, with my loving family. I know you might be wondering who I am, and why I am writing to you, and so I shall explain.
I am your sister.
I paused, shocked. I looked up at Lisa, a worried and confused expression on my face, and I knew she picked up on my concern.
“Dave,” she said cautiously, “What’s the matter?” I was too choked up to answer. I reassured myself that this must be some teenager who lives on the street writing a prank letter to me for fun. I am an only child, of course, always have been. There has got to be a logical explanation for this. Despite my anxiety, I continued to read.
I know this must be confusing or odd to you, and you might think this is a total hoax. But I can assure you, it is real. I was talking to my parents about 4 days ago, and they let me in on some news. I always knew I was adopted at a young age, but I never knew where I came from, or who my real parents were. My foster parents told me that they found an old document from the adoption agency, and on it stated the names of my real parents. I called them, and they didn’t say much, but they told me to write to you, because they said they didn’t know your phone number. I like letters more anyway, so I guess it worked out. I hope you are doing well David, and I would love to hear back from you. Maybe we could find a way to meet somehow, I would really like to finally meet my little brother. Goodbye for now, but I hope to hear from you soon,
Love,
Amelia
P.S. If you don’t share the same pleasure of writing letters like I do, you can always call me. 914 - 342 - 3365
I couldn’t believe it. I just stared at the letter, not taking in anything Lisa was saying to me. What does this mean? I wondered. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Should I call my parents and ask them if it was true? Should I call her and talk to my sister for the very first time? I am 38; I should know how to handle things like this by now. I turned to Lisa.
I started to smile a tiny bit, and it turned into a confused and nervous laugh that I knew Lisa wouldn’t understand. “I have a sister,” I said.
* * *
I ended up writing to Amelia, instead of doing what I usually do and call. I thought it was interesting how she liked writing letters rather than talking to someone on the phone. Maybe she was an author, and had a passion for writing, or maybe she was just shy when it came to new people. Either way, I found myself wanting to know exactly who she was, and what she was like. I thought about her a lot, and when I was going to be able to see her. It wasn’t until she said in her next letter that she and her family were going to be staying at home all summer. And so were we. I wrote to her again, and, being bold, asked her if we could come and visit for a couple of weeks.
Her returning letter came almost the day after I sent it, and she completely agreed. She told me to come whenever I wanted, and to stay as long as I wished. I was overjoyed. I knew it was a somewhat ambitious thing to do, visiting someone you are not even sure exists, but that was a chance I was willing to take. From her letters she seemed sincere and sweet, and I really believed that she was my sister. I had told Lisa about the letters, but not any of the kids. I wasn’t sure how they would take it, but I hoped well. I was sure the little kids wouldn’t care in the slightest, they would get to go hang out by the beach for a while, but Kylie, I wasn’t so sure about.
I walked down the hallway from my bedroom and knocked three times at the bottom of Kylie’s stairs, our signal that someone was about to come up.
“Ya?” she called down. I walked up the stairs and looked over to her desk. She was typing away frantically on her laptop.
“Honey,” I started. She swivelled around in her chair and glared at me.
“I told you not to call me that. I hate that expression. It’s not like I’m something you are going to spread on toast with some Peanut Butter,” and she swivelled back around. But I knew it got her attention, which was exactly why I had said it.
“We need to talk.”
At first Kylie took the news harshly. “What.Are.You.Talking.About.” she said, annunciating each word at a time, hoping it would sink in. “No way am I leaving Toronto for two weeks! I have friends and a job and a life Dad, I am not going.” It seemed like she had put her foot down, and I hated arguing with her. But when I told her where it was, in the sunny state of Florida, home to her favourite fruit, oranges, she loosened up a little. Then I told her about my sister, and she loosened up even more. I think she understood where I was coming from when I said that I wouldn’t have much other time during the year to see Amelia, because I was a full time teacher at a high school. Finally, she reluctantly agreed she would go. It was only for two weeks after all.
