INTO THE FLAMES

Sister Dear, Daughter Dear

Hey, Avery.

I see you rolling your eyes at me now, unfolding a handwritten letter written by your mother. I can't help that I'm old or old-fashioned. Your father has turned me into a romantic. I was cleaning out my closet the other day, and I found a slew of letters he wrote me from New York after I left for my three years in Los Angeles. We only met and spent a week together in New York before I left for LA, but he had had his heart set on me from the very beginning, all because I didn't take his crap.

That's why I've tried to be patient, Avery. I know that you need your time and your space, and that you're young and want to experience the world away from home, but it's been four years. We send the money and we say okay when you tell us that you aren't coming home during the few times you communicate, but I'm not sure how much longer we can wait, or how much longer we can keep this up.

Chicago, and independence, are a very important part of your life, and that I, believe me, understand, especially after my own travels so long after I should have settled down and gotten a job. It's the first experience you have on your own, but that's no reason not to talk to your mother.

You're distant on the phone, Ave. Hollow. Scarred. Unemotional. I don't know how you feel anymore. I don't know what's going on in your life, the boys you've loved, the friends you've made, the adventures you've had, the places you've been. 

I don't know you anymore, Avery.

And I'm not the only one who needs you home, needs you here.

Things have changed so much in the past four years, are so much more dangerous than they were. I'm not allowed to write so much down, for your safety and ours, but Aria is in trouble. Not just because of this man, but because of herself. I'm so concerned that she's sinking into herself, into a shell and she won't be able to come out. She hides in her room for days and barely eats the food we bring her.

We need you home, Avery. Soon.

I need you.

Mom.