The Devil Who Danced At Midnight

silvius

"Wherever sorrow is, relief would be
If you do sorrow at my grief in love
By giving love, your sorrow and your grief
We're both extermin'd."

- Silvius to Phoebe, As If You Like it, Act 3 Scene 3

December 21, 2055

Dear Miss Maine Mendoza,

I am Anne Rae Faulkerson, first-born to Richard and Mia Faulkerson, writing from the Philippines, and I believe only you have the right to see what was enclosed in this letter.

I am forty years old, and is currently living at Sampaloc, Manila. I am pleased to inform you that life has been good to me and I am married to a wonderful man, blessed with two kids (two pretty girls).

Now, you are probably wondering why, of all people, I am telling you these things.

My surname sounded too familiar, I know. If I am guessing this right, your age is around sixty-five, and I am also hoping you could still read this letter; I hope, a lot in fact, that you still remain vivacious, like in my father's stories.

Unfortunately, I am now left with my twin brother, William Rus, also living here in the Philippines. Yes, both my parents have passed away.

My mother passed away when I was younger; a lot, lot younger. My memories of her haven't been clear enough for me to remember. I only remember a beautiful woman with jet black hair, bouncing with waves, teaching me how to write my name for the first time, walking me to school whenever she can, and a few more things which I cannot recall now. My dearest mother died at childbirth, and the sibling we were supposed to have joined her in the afterlife.

Needless to say, we grew up with my father; who raised us in the best ways possible. He tamed unruly William like the devil but nurtured the soft Anne like an angel; he was a mixture of all the things a lonely child could wish for. He played both roles with ease - he sidestepped from being an understanding mother who was there to listen to her child's woes to a strict father who wanted to discipline his child's misdeeds.

My father became both the hero and the heroine of our lives, Miss Maine. He saved us from the misery of not having a mother through childhood to puberty to early stages of adulthood. He spared us from any longing; he loved us to his heart's extent. I cannot wish for more. He was simply the best and he left us not wanting for a better one.

But Madame... it is my father now - who needed saving.

My father possessed symptoms of Alzheimer's three years ago, which was actually an early age for his physique... but it turned out to be - that. We have to introduce ourselves repeatedly; even his favorite granddaughter, my daughter we like to call Dei, has to turn away from her Lolo Chard because she was hurt.

He cannot remember anything. My father, who knew everything, who felt everything, who taught us everything we knew up to this very day - forgot every single thing he knew.

Except your name, Madame.

It is only your name he remembers.

I remember hearing stories of a heroine I thought he invented himself since he's gotten so good at writing, named Nicomaine, and I also remember myself laughing. Such a peculiar name, I say, but he'll turn stern, and tell me not to insult the name since that was indeed, the most beautiful he had ever heard in his whole life.

And he'll tell me, oh please don't ask the number of times because it is endless, that he was the first man who conquered the moon. Not Neil Armstrong, not anyone else.