First off, I might not be updating for a bit, I'm leaving for a vacation with my family for the holiday. Second of all, I'd like to give a shout out to @evamarit for voting a bunch of times on this story! I love you all. <3
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Laura POV:
I sit at the piano in the den, my hands on the faded colors of the keys. I decide to learn a Bastille song, but I will have to do it by ear. The WiFi is out so I can't look up a tutorial. I decide on "Overjoyed." I start on the chords, which are simple. I play them, humming the lyrics.
"Hmm hm hmmm hmmm hmhm.." I hum along with the chords. I listen to the song and notice a few filler/bass notes, which take me longer to figure out. I play the "Oh, I feel overjoyed when you listen to my words." part, which sounds pretty good. My phone buzzes from the top of the piano.
It's from Ethan."Look in the fridge and tell me if we have any butter." It reads. I get up out of the living room and into the kitchen. I open the fridge and see multiple kinds of butter.
On one of them, a green sticky note reads. "Go and look in the toaster" I silently groan to myself. I look inside.
"Look under your Ella Eyre hat." a yellow sticky note reads. I clomp across the house to my room and pick my hat off the hook.
A violet sticky note says "Finally, look on the front porch." I toss the sticky note in the trash and put my hat on. I open the front door, letting the cold Chicago suburban air in the house. A single burst of color stands out in a pile of white envelopes. The package is orangish yellow. It's one of those envelopes that when you buy something small, like a cell phone case or bracelet, thats the kind of package they use. My name is written in big messy letters on it. I bring the rest of the mail in, but drop it all on the floor by the front door. I shut the door with my foot. I pass the den, and remember my phone. I text Ethan back.
"Yes, there's butter. What was the point of the notes?" I hit send and sit on the floor to open the package. I use my teeth to peel off the tape. I rip open the top carefully, causing an avalanche of orange envelopes to tumble onto the floor. Each one has a date, one going back to July 2004. I lay them out in order, based on date so I can read the earliest first. I notice over time the orange changes into different shades. I notice one that is bigger than the others. It reads "Prologue". I assume I should read that first. I set it to the side and sort the rest of the letters. When I have a row of at least 50 letters, I decide to open "Prologue". I open it and a half piece of notebook paper with scribbles in the margins. It reads
"Laura-
Hi, You've already met me at least once, maybe over phone. I wrote this letter on 4th December, 2015, in a backstage room in the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago, Illinois. I think you live in this city, or you did last time I heard of your mother's whereabouts. I don't know when you will read this, maybe never, but for 11 years (For now) I've been trying to contact you. I've written letters to you for your whole life, but have gotten to response ever. I don't know if I have the right address. But anyway, If you are reading these, that means I've found you. The following are copies of every letter I've sent you over the years. Ones with stars in the corner are the original/ones I never mailed. I didn't send them. I don't know why I decided to choose the colour orange or to put a star. Read in whatever order you want. I love you.
-Dan x"
His handwriting looked too familiar. I have a box of things my mom had from college that she hid in her closet that I grabbed before I was moved to Ethan and Michael's. I remind myself that I need to match the handwriting to things and see what my father had given her. There were cards attached to everything in the box. Rings, keychains, a pink wig, old car keys, and even love notes. But none were signed. They were, but my mother had ripped out the spots that said Dan's name. It was almost like she didn't want me to know about him. I fold the note back up and put it back in it's envelope. It's the color of the orange middle part of a candy corn. I pick up the next envelope. "14 July, 2004" Is printed on the outside of the goldfish-shade envelope in slightly smudged blue pen. A faded blue star is also in the corner. I open it. In the same colored ink I read:
"I got a phone call today from Ashley's parents. She had her baby. We agreed that a girl would be called Laura, and a boy would be called *scribble covers a short name* Palmer, that is, before she left me. I want to meet the baby, but my mum won't let me fly out to Chicago to see Ash. I really miss her. Thats why I write in this journal. I want to interpret my thoughts physically, but not make it obvious that i'm upset. On a happier note, today is also my birthday. I'm 18. That gives me an idea! I'm 18 now, my mum can't tell me what I can and can't do. My only roadblock is that I don't have enough money to buy a plane ticket. I start University in a few weeks. I can't tell anyone about Laura/Palmer, because then they'll be like "Oh, that *more scribbles* with tall hair has a kid. What a freak" and then everyone will treat me *even more scribbling* am.
Dan."
I finish reading, wanting to know what was under the scribbles. I notice another fold, but this time the print is in red ink.
"Sorry about the scribbles and random crap, Laura. The good thing is we share a birthday, so I won't forget yours (kidding) It's bad luck to sign your name in red ink, so I'll sign in green.
Dan"
I pick everything up and take it to my bedroom. I pull an old christmas cookie box out from under my bed. I pry open the lid and see my favorite thing on top. It's a love poem, of course with something, likely a signature, torn off.
"These chords make her so happy, especially when he plays them that way. What she says makes him so happy, complimenting him all day. Well I don't love you, but I love your songs. Well I don't love you, but your words make me feel like I belong.
She begs him to keep playing these chords, even though he and they may get a little tired. And he implores her to keep saying that stuff because her hollow words are keeping him inspired.
Well I don't love you, but your songs are keeping me amused. Well I don't love you, but you'll do as an adequate muse.
Well I love the opticians, 'cause it's not your fault if your eyes are bad. And they can't make you feel guilty, and they're hardly gonna blame your mum and dad. The doctors and the dentists, can see how much you've indulged. By learning of what condition you're in, they can tell what you've never divulged. And it's up to you to look after yourself, which is so boring, ring, ring, bring me down.
Well I don't love you, but I love your songs. Well I don't love you, but your words make me feel like I belong."
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Yayyyyyy I've wanted to write this for a while!
YOU ARE READING
Lost Dad: Dan Smith
Fanfiction"Hello, Mr. Smith. We're calling about a child you had with..." Theres a pause, "Ashley Caraway." - "Laura, about your Dad... He wants to meet you."
