Letters to Josephine

Prologue

Josephine

I remember Father once telling me that we are not us. Or at least just us. That that us is made of little pieces, little pieces that come from different places, or better, different people. That the ones who pass by our lives are not alone, do not leave us with nothing. Because they grant us a fragment of them while taking one from us. And that is how you build a soul.

I did not understand what he meant by that, at first. How could we be different people if we were just us? And if we were not made of just us, would that mean that I was also other people at the same time I was myself? I was utterly confused. "Am I Mrs. McCann that sells flowers on the market too, Father? Or Mr. Bennet that always delivers the newspaper at our house every morning?" I remember asking him while he was tucking me in, that night.

Father laughed, and I frowned. I was intrigued, to say the least. Pushing a strand of hair behind my ear, he proceeded to explain that the soul that we are born with is different from the one that will leave our body one day. That is our final us. He did not enter in detail about the part of the soul leaving the body, though. "You are still too young for that conversation, my love," he said when I asked him if and how could I separate myself from my soul so it could go to market with Meredith the next day, as Mother told me we had already plans. A tea party, she explained. Another one. An important one.

I was still confused, but as the patient person he is, he tried to explain it to me again. I was not what they call a slow learner, I can assure you. I was indeed quite smart. "Too smart for your age," Mother always said, no matter how old I was. But that conversation did not make sense to me at the time, I was just seven after all. A kid, still.

He proceeded to explain once again. According to him, when we are born our soul is like a blank canvas that will get more colorful every day that we get to see the sunrise. Until the sun does not rise for us anymore. "Does that mean that my soul will not be as colorful as it could be, as it rains most of the time?" I asked, my eyes wide open and staring at his barely seen figure engulfed by the darkness in the room.

"No, my love," he said pushing the covers up and patting them around my body, shielding me from the freezing temperature that could be felt in the room. "Our soul, or better, or canvas," he smiled, "will get more colorful every and each time the sun rises... But not because it happens. It gets more colorful, more alive, because every time the sun rises, you get one more chance to paint it," I remember him explaining as he brought his hand to my cheek. His asperous skin rubbed against my still soft, youthful one. "To paint it with experiences, songs, adventures, voices, books... Books are very important," he said with a sternal tone. "But what really marks us are people, my love... We give, we get, and we give and get again. And that influences who we will become, the choices we will make. And even the choices made by others will affect us somehow. That is how we become us, how you will find the final you."

I remained silent and let that sink in. I started to understand a little more what he was explaining so carefully, thoughtfully. "And that is how we build our soul," he concluded and came closer to me, kissing me on the forehead. His warm, heart-shaped lips felt familiar against my skin.

"Is it like a game?" I asked. I used to ask a lot of questions back then. I still do, in fact. I remember reading one day, on one of the books Father keeps in his study that "questioning is defying, defying is growing, growing is living", and had never forgotten that till this very day. So I made sure to ask questions. Several of them. I defied everyone and everything, especially Mother. After all, I wanted to live. But not by the book. At least not their book.

"If you want to put it that way, love," he smiled. "Is like a game of taking and giving. You give a part of you to someone and that someone gives you a part of them back," I remember him saying as the mattress did not feel that cold against my petite figure anymore. "They will influence the way you see the world, the way you think, and sometimes even the way you breathe," he wisely said.

"It is time for you to sleep, Josephine. You have a big day ahead tomorrow, an important person to meet," he said as he lifted himself from the mattress, his arms tightly wrapped around him. The hem of his heavy robe pushed as much as he could to keep his hands warm, a vicious habit he still has. "Good night," he said.

The room became pitch dark as the little blaze on my nightstand died. He made his way to the door but I stopped him at the threshold with my final question, "Did I help you to build your soul, Father?" He had his back to me, but I still knew he was smiling. "The most, my love. The most."

I remember staring at the ceiling, the smell of the burned candle still hovering around. I had spent the afternoon playing with Daniel that day. He was already sound asleep in the room down the corridor. Father always made sure to wish me a good night the last because he knew I never liked the bedtime Mother had established for us. A religious, sacred ritual he made sure to perform every night till the day I became a bird ready to fly on my own. Looking back, mayhap he was the one who turned me into a rule breaker.

I fell asleep shortly after. A night that seemed as banal as any other night became the one I remember the best until today. A conversation that sounded so trivial at the time, makes me now look back and realize what was left to say. What should have been said.

Because what Father never told me that night, mayhap because it was improper due my young age, is that people do not leave just sweet fragments behind for us to collect. They also leave their rotten ones.

I wish you had told me, Father.
I wish I had known,
Because I would have stopped him.

A.N.:

I said I was not going to post anything, but I could not keep it just to myself. Ok, now I promise to be back just when the book is finished.

If you liked it, do not forget to vote and comment,

Anna.