Double-Sided Letters

Recollection of a Memory: SIDE B

0 B.L. = BEFORE LILLIAN

She held the letter loosely within her grasp, rubbing the grainy paper under her thumb. Staring at it intently, she read word after word with the ferocity of a starving lion gorging itself. She was being starved, in a sense—if being starved for information counted. So starved that she could hardly believe she was actually holding a fresh new letter in her coarse fingertips.

Which was why she had sprinted down to the mailbox that morning before the mailman could even get out of his car. She knew full well that her mother was a master of deception when it came to outside news; propaganda flowed out of her mouth as freely as the words oh, it's not for you. And yet this time, it was. This time, there was an envelope. An envelope...to her. A little girl who was as inconspicuous as the gum beneath a shoe. But the letter had clearly stated that it was addressed to Miss Catherine Lamott of the Lamott Residence, and she definitely didn't know anyone else with that address.

It actually pleased her to be called a Miss of so-and-so Residence, something she'd always adored when reading older books (not that she often did- she found them dreadfully boring, however much she wanted to like them). And so this Miss of so-and-so Residence began to read, thrilled at the prospect of getting information before her mother did:

Dear Miss Catherine Lamott: 

You may not remember me well, but I am your second uncle, Calum Frank. We met briefly during a family reunion last spring- you enjoyed the Hamilton lillians most, if I do remember (whereas I personally favored the begonias, myself). 

Here she let out a humph of air, finding his blurry memories disdainful and rather unmemorable on the whole. 

In light of your approaching arrival to Lillian, I had recently offered an arrangement for you to stay with me, which your mother accepted. I do hope you will find it nice here- we've many people around your age and in between those years currently, who I feel you'll get along with. They have spirits all their own, which I know is a lot like you, though you are slightly more solitary in nature.

Solitary? I'm solitary now? she thought indignantly. She could be perfectly sociable and agreeable when she wanted to—only the desire to be was often fleeting and weak.

You need not bring more than necessities- we have most of what you'll need laid out already. I'm sure you'll love your room; no one has been there for ages, so it's perfect for your frequent exploits around the house. I did admire your back ways around Old Greer's house. That reminds me—do you recall your Grandfather Greer?

No, she did not, nor did she care to ever recall him. Besides, she was far too miffed (although this was twinged with small pride) at being called an escapist, as if she had trouble standing still. Those days were far behind her; now the only adventures she took were to the kitchen for meals.

Well, I will be thrilled o see you shortly, as you are to depart by the time you receive this, if I am correct! Please feel free to make any requests once you arrive.

Sincerely,

Calum Frank 

Underneath the bold name was the unintelligible scribble of a signature.

Since she had begun Catherine had read this letter with decreasing speed, finally slowing to a stop at sincerely like a bewildered Red Riding Hood, lost in a thicket of trees with a menacing wolf.

Leaving? By the time I receive this? Which means...

The wolf had revealed itself to her, stepping into her field of vision. What she saw standing there was the obvious message embedded in the words she had been too annoyed with to understand fully: