Face The Music

Masterpiece Theatre II

Dearest Aunt Lynn,

Damnit. It's been two weeks since my first letter, and I still don't know who you are. You're starting to be okay when I walk into your room, and that makes me happy, because it's just a little piece of who you once were – the woman who always loved to see my face. You even let Henry sleep in your room, except it has to be on a spare mattress next to yours, and I guess he's satisfied with that, for now. 

I've been trying to write at least twice a week, but I guess I've been caught up in things. My birthday was three days ago. Josh drove an hour to a bakery to get me specially-made cupcakes. You always did like strawberry best, but when we tried to give that one to you – strawberry with jam filling and buttercream frosting – you took one taste of it and wrinkled your nose. We made Josh eat the rest of that one, and I gave you my favorite, the chocolate cupcake with peanut butter frosting. Don't you remember anything? Anything at all?

Sometimes I imagine that my father is back from the dead. He tucks me in at night, and then I can hear him go over to your room where you sit on the bed and talk until dawn because I know you miss him just as much if not more than I do. Last night, Eren came into my room because he was scared. He said you didn't recognize him. Don't scare a little 11 year-old like that, won't you? You remember him, I know. You used to dab little bits of your buttercream frosting onto his nose. And if you don't remember him, damnit, pretend! It's not that difficult, Auntie.

I really have to ask myself why Josh is still here sometimes. He has a job. He's in a popular Canadian band! What is he doing here? Ha! What did you pay him back then to be friends with me? It must've been one hell of a sum.

We made you listen to some recordings of my piano playing in concert from a million years ago, and I'm not sure if you recognized it. Besides what you're newly learning, you don't seem to recognize anything, these days. I don't know what to think.

I'm not sure if you'll end up reading this. This letter in particular is less of a reminder of what you lost, less of an urgent prayer for you to return to your roots and retrieve those memories, and more of a guilt-trip, blaming you for being who you now are. Because I'm not sure now that you'll ever get back to normal, no matter what we do. These letters might not be helping any. Maybe who you are now is the new normal. 

The idea might make me cry, but I'm supposed to love you no matter what.

So just learn to love us, eventually. Remember to love us.

Your favorite niece,

Kiera