Dear Nobody

Again, it has been a few months since I last wrote to you. That's mostly because I haven't had much to say, things have been empty for a while now. It's like I can't feel anything but I still can't stop thinking. And no matter how much I think about my life I still can't find a purpose to it. I am nothing but a nobody, and no one would miss me or even notice if I disappeared. I never Truly existed in this world, just as a shell of a person. That's the kind of thing I keep thinking. It hasn't crossed my mind in a while that I should write to you but now I think I have to tell you some things that happened, some things that I did. So let's get right into it.

I woke up to the spring morning with singing birds and a bright yellow butterfly hovering just above my eyes. For some reason, the first thing I thought was that it was Leah, telling me she wanted to move on now. I don't know why, maybe I dreamt about her or maybe I'm going a little crazy but I took the glass jar with her ashes, put on my spring jacket and went for the bus station, still wearing my pajama pants. The fog was thick as my mind and everything was blurrier than ever before. All I could think about was death, as I stepped onto the bus with Leah's ashes in hand. I got off the bus after more than an hour of watching the lands outside the window, to find myself next to the wide streched forest with lush trees and beautiful hills and mountains. I started walking on a deep but thin path into the thick green. The sun was shining through the leaves and the wind was shaking the trees and the singing birds. The forest always used to make me feel happy, and even if it didn't anymore it made me feel some calm and peace. I was sweating as I climbed the steep slopes, partly distracted with the childhood memories they awoke. I mumbled some of the stories to Leah's spirit along with everything else I never got to tell her. If I had known that I would lose her this soon I would have tried to talk to her, tell her how I feel and how my life is. Maybe that could have helped me talk to others. Maybe, just maybe I could have become somebody, but now it's too late.

Before I even noticed I had reached the top of the hillI was climbing, the highest cliff in the forest. It truly is the greatest view I've ever seen, with the trees stretching so far, you can barely see the nearest town on the horizon. I sat down at a tree not too far from the edge of the highest cliff in the state. "This is it," I said to Leah as I unscrewed the lid of the jar. "The most beautiful place to leave this cruel world behind," I stood up and reached into the jar, the ashes felt warm from the sun as I took out as much of them as I could fit in my hand, and put them out over the cliff to let the wind catch them. "From beauty you were born, and to beauty you shall return," I said softly as I watched Leah blow away in the wind like smoke. As she was floating three beautiful, yellow butterflies followed her, and like angels they carried her safely to the afterlife.

When I got home again my thoughts about death followed as I entered the garage and fell back down to the bed. I tried to force my mind to happier things, but I was only able to start thinking about my dad. My whole life I have had no idea of who he was, and yet I've never really questioned it. But maybe my dad is the thing I need right now, maybe he will love me and maybe I could talk to him and maybe, just maybe, he could be my chance in life. Suddenly I felt a little light enter the darkness inside. Now all I had to do was find him and that doesn't have to be so hard since I never really tried before. I have looked in my mom's room but not anywhere else. There had to be something in this building that showed some sign of him. Where would you keep the memory of a dear lover who made you suffer? Maybe somewhere close to you, but not so close you have to see it every day, like a garage. I realized that other than the photo albums I hadn't looked through it properly, there might very well be letters from or to him or photos of him in the very room I have been living in for months. The curiosity was just enough to get me out of bed. I started looking In the corner where I found the photo albums, and looked under them and behind grandma's armchair, there was a box with more photos. I took it out and sat down in the armchair to look through it. The first one was one of grandma in her younger years. With the date and her name on the back, she was wearing an apron with a pie in her hands and a smile on her face. The next one was my mom's prom photos. She was standing with a friend (Who was also a girl and couldn't be my dad,) and the two of them smiled at the camera. The same girl was with her at graduation and a few other photos. On the back of the photos it said her name was Grace Ferrell, the name of Michael's first wife, she had been mom's best friend which explains how mom met Michael. It crossed my mind that Michael could be my dad, but then I realized that he's skintone was too dark for that to be possible when I was paler than my mom. After some baby, child and wedding pictures I saw a picture of an unfamiliar face. A man with black hair and brown eyes, just like me as well as skin paler than mom. This man could be my dad, and if there was a name on the back I could find him. I took a deep breath and turned the photo to read the name: Otto, 1968. I put down the picture in the box and the box in the corner. I considered searching another part of the garage but realized it wasn't worth it. Even if I found a name it would be hard to turn that name into a person, and even if I managed that there was no way I would actually talk to him. And there was no way that he would care about me, if he did he would have found me a long time ago. I gave up the search and went to bed.

I had a dream that I was sitting alone in the park, next to my usual tree when a silhouette approached me from another part of the park. Normally when I have that dream it's Leah who comes and sits down next to me, and I give her a sandwich and a pack of cigarettes; but today it was someone else. A man with black hair and brown eyes, with skin lighter than my mom's, but he was still a bit different from young grandpa Otto. He sat down next to me with a smile. "At last I have been reunited with you, my dear daughter Molly," he said in a gentle voice just before I fell off the narrow bed and woke up.

I felt like the dream was a sign to keep looking for him, and so I got up and searched the rest of the garage. what I found in the other corners was even more boring than the first. I found nothing that had any obvious emotional value or that gave me any information about my dad, which meant that my best beat now was my mom. I made a prayer that she would talk to me just this once, before I went into her kitchen.

Mom and Michael were sitting by themselves at the table with a nice dinner set up in front of them. They didn't look up when I entered, or when I sat down on the kitchen island not more than two meters away from them. Michael said something about the food and a chit chat started between them, as I tried to gather enough courage to say what I needed to say. At last I found just enough to do it. "Who is my dad?" I asked, and mom went quiet for a moment before she went back to making small talk. That was the last time I would put up with her not talking to or looking at or paying attention to me in any other way. she would not give me love and she would not let me find the one other person who could. Why does she want me to be this unhappy? "Please answer me," I said as I felt my mind getting even gloomier and desperate. "Just say something. Anything," I told her as I tried to swallow my tears. She stayed quiet. "Why can't you even turn to look at me. Are you that ashamed of me?" I said with no response. Then water blurred my vision and I let the drops build up until they fell out by themselves, thankful they meant I didn't have to look at her but I didn't have to look away in case she turned to me. "If you ever loved me... please say something," I had to take brakes to sniffle now. "I don't understand... what I've done wrong... or why you refuse to act like my mother," even if she wasn't answering, some part of my mind demanded that everything be let out. "I have not had an honest conversation with a real, live person for years... and not a single person in this town who doesn't live in this house knows my name, and the ones who do... deny my existence," I was speaking as clearly as I could to make sure she really heard it. "No one cares about me or about what happens to me," I swallowed another set of tears. Suddenly I realized how unlikely it was that my dad cared, which made me cry even more. "I have forgotten what it feels like to be loved," I said. "Because no matter how much I love someone, they don't love me back," My sadness was too strong now. I fell to a sitting position on the floor. "Why don't you love me mommy?" in that moment I was a child again, wanting attention from a mother who looked down at me without helping me up, without talking to me, without taking my hand, she wasn't doing anything for me but I still worshiped her. "Why won't you love me?" now I merely whispered, as I tried to see the look on her face. Her eyes were dry as paper and she wasn't even frowning, like she had shut me out completely. I gave up. Mom suddenly cleared her throat. "How was your day at work?" she asked her husband but to my surprise, Michael didn't answer. When I turned to him, I met his eyes before he pulled away. But the damage had been done. "Michael," I said. "Why do you let her do this? Why do you lie to your children when you know I am a real person? You have noticed me. You must feel something for me," I called out to him, but he was looking right at my mom. "Don't you want to talk to me?" he still didn't respond which made me ask something completely different. "Why won't you even try to hurt me like you did with Zoe? You could do anything to me without getting in trouble. Punch me, kick me you could kill me and nobody would cry," I said as I wished he had done one of those things. Then I would have known I was something to someone, even If it was a punching bag. When Michael did not respond my last drop of fighting spirit was out. I lay down on the floor to cry, and I just cried and cried until night fell. Now I am sure of what I have to do next, the last thing I will ever do.