Faded Letters in a Leather-Clad Box

The multitude of faded letters were kept in an old wooden box. The box was covered with leather, its color faded by the passing years, the material torn and tattered in places but the clasp in the front was still strong. The words printed on those pages still held so many memories. They spoke of times passed. Conversations long since finished. They whispered salutations and farewells forgotten. Each letter had been kept with almost obsessive care yet the ravages of time had still taken their toll. The pages upon pages were near pieces from being folded and unfolded. The paper had yellowed, the ink washed out making them hard to read. Mixed among the letters were several old pictures and a few cards. It was the first that interested me along with the pictures. The cards contained no information. They were just the usual, wishing “happy birthday” or “get well soon” and that was it. On the back of each picture, scrawled in carefully formed script was a date, sometimes a location, and even rarer names. They showed the memories that the letters spoke about.

 

The box of letters was kept in the attic of the old house, stored carelessly by relatives with no respect for the dead. I’d been cleaning the dusty attic, looking for something to keep me busy when I found them. At once I dropped everything else and settled down on the floor, not caring if my clothes ended up covered in dust. It was fascinating. I sorted them into piles, letters with letters, pictures with pictures, and cards off to the side, tossed haphazardly. Then came the task of putting them in chronological order. Once that was finished, I packed them up, pictures up on top of the letters before closing the box and carrying it down stairs with me. I wanted better light and a more comfortable floor while I read.

 

Once seated downstairs, I opened the box of treasured things once more. The pictures I spread out on the floor, back facing upwards so I could see the dates on them to easier place them with a letter. The first letter was dated over eighty years ago and written in an elegant hand in red ink.

 

My Dearest One, the days go by slowly without you here by my side. I long for your gentle touch and soft skin. Time seems to stand still without you near. However, I know this separation is the best for us. It’s too risky for us to be near each other. I’m too tempted with you so close. Oh My Dearest One, I wish you could see how beautiful this place is. Every time I wake in the morning and glance out the window, I think of you and the time we once spent together. It was only a year yet it seems to be the apex of my life. Nothing else can ever seem to compare to those precious moments. In the upcoming month I will be furthering my education. I don’t know how often I’ll be able to write to you dear. If someone were to see me composing a letter, unanswerable questions will arise. My guardians have many friends at the institute and would hear about any activity that seems out of the norm. As it is I’m pressed for time when writing you. I’m required to steal moments from other activities in order to scrawl a few words before stowing the paper away and pretending as if everything is fine and I haven’t just been writing to the only person I believe I will ever love. If I take long to respond it is for this very reason. I can only write periodically and I ‘d rather send you a letter of some substance than just a few words scrawled on a piece of ratty paper but only a few words can be committed to paper at a time. My time is running short. I can hear footsteps on the stairs and the shadows on the floor tell me that it must be time for dinner. I’ll try to sneak this letter into the post as soon as possible but first I must steal a stamp. Until next time...

 

The letter wasn’t signed. It just ended abruptly in my opinion. The next letter was obviously the response which stopped me in my tracks for a moment. Letters didn’t work like that. The story should be fragmented. The responses locked away somewhere else…unless… The only thing that made sense as to why the complete conversation existed in this one box was that something must have happened to the person on the receiving end and death seemed a strong possibility.

 

The response to the first letter was written in a strong, bold hand which looked so out of place next to the flowing script of the other. Then again, hasn’t it often been said that opposites attract?

 

I know the feeling of having to sneak moments in which to compose a letter. It seems there is never enough time. Never enough free moments. I’m watched all the time by my family. It seems they suspect something. Maybe it has to do with the heartbroken way I acted when you left. They were never the ones to think positive things, like I was in mourning for the first real friend I’ve ever had. They instantly go to the worst thing and take it as truth even if they have no proof. And I know they have none. We were careful. On the outside everyone would just see a blossoming friendship. We hid the romance from them splendidly even though at times the secretes seemed to cut to the quick. Better to be safe. Who knows what they would do if they had any substantial proof? I only know it wouldn’t be good for either of us. I would never do anything to put you in harm’s way. But then again…by doing this I am. Oh but I am selfish. If I can’t have you here with me, I want your words. I’m hiding the letters away in that beautiful box you got me for the holidays. You told me to keep something special in it and I am. The box itself is hidden  in the attic. In a place only you and I could find.  I know you must be excited about starting school once more. You have such a seeking spirit. Always wanting to know more and find out more. I myself will be taking a few classes here and there mostly in art. I’m going to take full advantage of the small fortune my family has amassed.

 

When shall we meet again? This is a question that I can’t help but ask you. Do you have any thought on it? Will you be back soon enough to keep me from going mad? Or am I going to have to lose my fragile hold on sanity with waiting. I’m sorry for the way I speak. Forgive me. I sound so needy, like a child. I don’t mean to. It’s just that all I can think about is you. Every second of every day. My life is lived until the next letter. Until the next sign that you haven’t forgotten me. That nothing has gone wrong. I love you. I truly do. I wish this letter could be longer but we’re going shopping for a gift for my baby cousin. Do you remember him? He was quite fond of you. Always rushing to you when you came and visited the house. And you were so kind to him. Never pushing him away with impatience no matter how much of a rush you were in. It always made my heart warm to see how you could get along with anyone. Even a little child that could be rather needy. Why did you have to leave? Why did you move away?

 

I remember your cousin. Such a sweetheart! It makes me smile to remember when we took him on that picnic down by the lake. We stole a few moments alone when he had fallen asleep on the blanket, completely oblivious to everything. That’s one of my fondest memories of you too. The way your eyes sparkled in excitement as we snuck into the trees, making sure that we were still able to view the sleeping child. It was a lovely day. We had so many like that when this all began. But gradually they faded. Everything became hectic and rushed. It felt like we barely had anytime left together. Why did my guardians decide to move? I’ve asked myself that many times and the only conclusion I can come to is the same I’m sure you’ve come up with. Like your family I believed they had begun to realize our relationship was progressing beyond what is considered decent and respectable. I didn’t want to leave. Don’t you for a second think that my dearest. I was forced to. The night before we left, I cried. You didn’t see. I wasn’t going to cry in front of you. You needed me to be strong so I was strong. But alone, I couldn’t do it. I felt my heart breaking. For a moment, Death was all I could think about. Perhaps it had something to do with the last play we ever saw being Romeo and Juliet. Or maybe I was just a more morbid person than I had ever thought. Don’t worry. I quickly dismissed the idea. I would never want to do anything like that to you and I’d never ask you to do anything like that for me. We are not those tragic lovers! Unlike them we have a hope. We will be back together.

 

However, I can’t tell you exactly when I will be able to return. Hopefully soon. But in all honesty, I never could lie to you, the chances of me being able to visit soon, are not very good. With all the suspicion being cast on me and the beginning of the University, I’m kept occupied at all times. If one were to open my head, all they would find are thoughts of you. It’s making it hard to go about like everything is normal but I suppose I’m a better actor than I had ever thought. Soon, my dear, is all I can promise you. We will be reunited soon.

 

Oh, it pains me to hear that you actually contemplated taking your own life. I would never, ever desire you to do something so horrible. My heart clenched and tears rose in my eyes. I had to set your letter aside and I wasn’t able  to finish it until later that night. Sneaking a moment alone with it when everyone else was asleep.

 

 I do remember the picnic as well. When I have time but am unable to write to you, I take a novel and head down to the lake. I sit in the same spot as the picnic and pour over a book or more often, think of you and what our reunion would be like. It is a peaceful time. I’m dreading when winter comes and I’ll be confined to the house. My parents will keep me in. They did that when you were there too. My health is too delicate a thing for me to be out when it get colder. I think that is a bunch of rubbish but you know I won’t say anything against them. For the time being they are the only support I have so I shan’t do anything to anger them.

 

You won’t believe what I found the other day. I had grabbed a random book from the shelf in my room, I was planning on paying a visit to the lake, when it fell from my hand. It hit the carpet spine first and fell open. A dried flower came tumbling out of it and I instantly knew what it was from. The first time you told me you considered me more than a friend you gave me a flower picked from the garden of your home. It was perfect in everyway, the flower and the moment completely caught me by surprise. I didn’t know what you’d meant at first. You laughed and said that my naiveté was becoming. I spent the good part of the day sitting on the floor looking at the flower and thinking about what it meant to me, to us.

 

 

The next few letters were like that. The two reminisced through their letters. They were full of anecdotes about times they had spent together. I knew how it was. Whenever I wrote letters, the majority of the letter ends up reliving moments that were precious. Five years passed before a dramatic change took place in the tones of the letters. They became urgent and an ominous feeling seemed to permeate into the very paper.

 

They worry about me. There’s talk of sending me away. I’m dreadfully ill. I spent the night waiting for you on the porch. You said you were going to come and visit me once you had a break from the demands being placed on you by your guardians. But you didn’t come. Why didn’t you come? I cried myself to sleep and woke up with a fire burning in my cheeks. The doctor came and said that if the greatest care wasn’t taken I would be in danger of dying. My parents want to send me away to warmer climate for the rest of the winter. But how would I get your letters? I can’t go. I won’t risk it. I know you must have had a good reason for not coming and I don’t blame you for what happened. I just wanted to let you know that. I won’t let them send me away. I must go now. I’m getting dizzy. I’ll give this to a friend of mine to mail. I trust them. This will get to you.

 

You must not have gotten my letter. I wrote you that I wouldn’t be able to come. Too much is taking place for me to even think of leaving. I feel so horrible. I can’t believe the post is that unreliable. I don’t want you to think I did this on purpose or that I’ve grown bored waiting for the moment we’ll be together again. I’ve been tempted yes. Anyone would have by now. But I remain faithful to you and I will to the end of my days. No time now. More in another letter.

 

I fear there may not be a next time. I’m being sent away. I’m sorry the pages are stained with tears. I’m much better. I was able to rise for dinner and eat it at the table with everyone else but I’m still dreadfully weak. Everyone feels it would be in my best interest to get out of this cold climate. I don’t want to go but I have no power over it. Please don’t write me unless it’s urgent. I’ll try to send a letter from my new residence but it may be impossible. My aunt is coming with me and she’s the one who watches me the closest.  I’ll write you when I get back if I’m unable to at any other time. The letters will be read if you send them and I’m not home so please if you must send a letter, guard your words. I like to think I know you best out of everyone, so trust me to know what you mean. Don’t do anything rash while I’m gone. Don’t think I’m doing this willingly. I’m being forced by family and poor health.

 

There was a wide space between the next letters and it appears that the distance did affect their ability to communicate.

 

We stayed longer than we planned. I’m so sorry. I hope nothing bad has happened. The last I heard one of your guardians was very ill, near death. I know that despite your hatred for them keeping us apart, you do love them and if anything happened while I was gone, I know you must be heartbroken. I can only hope nothing transpired and everyone is in good health. I will keep this letter short just so I can send it sooner. I must know that you are okay.

 

Death has struck not once but four times since you’ve been gone. First both my guardians passed within two weeks of each other. Then two of my dearest friends passed on in a gruesome way. It has just been awful. I’ve had to get things in order and it is so odd living alone in our big house by myself. I believe I’m going mad. Just yesterday I swore I heard familiar footsteps on the staircase and when I went to look, no one was there. I find myself in frequent possession of freedom but the lack of willingness to do anything. I can’t write anymore now. I don’t have the motivation.

 

Please, don’t talk like that. I fear for you. You’re scaring me. This lack of enthusiasm is not like you. You were always able to make the best out of and cope with any situation. You’ll get use to the absence of your guardians. It will take time but it will get better. I’d ask you to come and visit but there has recently been a scandal involving friends of the family that is similar to our situation. My family wouldn’t allow you near me because of this. But please, know you are in my heart and I’m thinking of you every moment and all I want is for you to get better. I wish I could be there to help you cope with this loss but sadly I can’t. Know that I love you and only wish the best for you.

 

I love you too. I love you with everything that remains in my shattered heart but I can’t carry on like this. Never getting to see you. Never getting to hold you in my arms. It’s maddening and not at all healthy. Know that I’ll never give you up even as I breath my last breath but know also that this will be the last letter I ever send to you. Our love as been hidden away and scorned and will have to remain that way. I’ll never take you down with me. Everything shall remain as it has always been with you and your relationship with your family. They’ll never know. No one will but us and those who have helped us. My dearest one, I love you and always will.

 

Why do you talk like this? This can’t end like this. It can’t. I only want you. I will leave my family if I have to. They’ve done nothing but hold us back. We can be together. I can help you out. Help you deal with the loneliness. Just don’t end this. I can’t have it end like this. I love you! Do you hear me?! I love you so much. I’ll die without you.

 

After that letter, there were a few more all written in the same ink apparently never replied to. Finishing the letters a sat back, resting my back against the chair in the room. It was mind blowing finding this hidden love in the attic of a house I’d only recently acquired. The letters weren’t signed. The pictures could feature anyone, several were group shots. There was no way to tell who these people were but their love seemed to reach up from the pages and pull me in.

 

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I hadn’t realized I’d been crying. Two people so deeply in love but unable to admit it. Their story touched me and I mourned for them and their love.