Letters to Eleanor

March 8th, 2014

Hey Nel,

This is my last letter to you.

I felt little Rosie's hand in mine.  Even though our skin wasn't touching, our excitement bounced off of each other through our thick wool gloves.

Of course, Liam insisted on carrying our bags, in the case that we had to run.

I took a deep breath and looked back at Liam, who was staring dreamily into the distance.  "This is it, Liam." I reached back and gave me a small peck on the cheek for good luck.  He smiled with his broad white teeth, and his small dimples peeking out of his cheeks. 

The grey, haunting image of the border lied ahead of us.  Staring through our very souls, our destiny awaited.  

We were so close, only about a quarter mile away.  The snow was falling hard, a blanket of white covered our field of vision.  That was good, I suppose.  The Canadian authorities might not have been able to see us.

Rosie shivered even with her many layers of jackets, but still wore her triumphant beam on her face.  She's such a bundle of sunshine, a source of hope itself.  She represented love of a family, and Liam represented plain and simple love of a lifetime, one that never lets go, and is within our deepest pocket of our hearts.  

What would I have done if I stayed by my original pact to avoid love in all forms, shut myself out, die alone? I wouldn't have lived, Nellie.  What is life without love? It's loneliness on all sides, an empty void surrounding us. It would be unimaginable.

We stomped our thick boots through the snow and blindly walked to the border.  The great wall grows in height as we walk towards it.  It looms above our heads. That wall is still visible through the white pellets of snow. 

A gun shot is fired into the air and orders are shouted loudly, blasting into our ears. "PUT YOUR ARMS ABOVE YOUR HEAD!" 

I heard a thud, telling me that Liam had dropped our bags in the four foot deep snow.  We felt guns hit our backs, pushing us forward.  Some orders are shouted, in all different languages.  I could understand part of the Spanish being spoken.  It was amazing, people of all different cultures, working together to save everyone.  

Everything was suddenly visible when we got shoved roughly into a building.  I finally got to see who these people were.  They were both men and women, all different races, different faces, different ages.  I looked to them in awe as they closed a cell door behind us.  A cell door behind us?

"What's going on?" Liam demanded, frustration clear in his voice. 

A womanwho looked to be about thirty five, short cut brown hair, and piercing blue eyes searched us visually, looking us up and down.  "You will find out soon enough," she broke her serious state and broke into a grin.  "Welcome to Canada."

She walked away, and some other Canadian soldiers with heavy guns, and camouflage clothing (very military like) approached us and began asking us questions, simple questions, like names, where we're from, ect.  We told them the exact truth and didn't leave out any details.  They were all quite nice and sympathetic.  

Soon enough, the left us alone in the dusty, gray cell, on our heavy concrete benches. Rosie fell asleep on my arm, and I could hear a light snore escaping from her lips. I rested my head on Liam's shoulder as he hummed a Fleetwood Mac song. Landslide.  I started singing it out loud. 

"Oh mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above," I sang lightly.  Liam even started singing along, so we harmonized. "Can I sail through the changing, ocean tides, can I handle the seasons of my life? Hmm. hmm. I don't know. Hmm. Hmm. Hmm.. Hmm. I don't know."