｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･☆ chapter one! florence writes a letter
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theme? LAKE SHORE DRIVE, ALIOTTA HAYNES JERIMIAH
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Florence Barns hasn't spoken to her mother in sixth months, thirteen days, eight hours, and fifty six minutes. Maybe, she thinks, that's why she feels so inclined to fill the paper in front of her.
She wishes she was more like Bram— who doesn't give a single shit about their mom, whose anger is swallowing but validated and sensical. Who won't write a letter because he knows she doesn't deserve one. He's a year and a half Florence's senior, and he's always known exactly how he feels. She is openly jealous of his no-bullshit ideologies, even if the black-and-white, good-and-bad judgements are occasionally unfair.
But Florence isn't Bram— sure, she feels swallowed whole by her feelings, like a double overhead wave that doesn't quit. Like a constant, giggly, dizzying high, not that she would know anything about that. But she can't make sense of them. Does she hate her mother? Pity her? Resent her? It doesn't matter. She told her father she would fill the paper, address the envelope, grab some stamps from downstairs, so she will.
Mom,
Sure, good start, Florence. But what then? What do you say to a woman who so dramatically rattled your life. She remembers Kie's advice,— pretend you aren't talking to her. Pretend you're telling a stranger about your life. Florence had then stubbornly questioned why a stranger would ask for her life story, to which Kie had answered (how did she always have an answer?) pretend you're telling a journalist about your past on OBX. They're interviewing you for some detective magazine, and they want to know about your roots. Tell them about the island, about us. Okay, she could do that.
Dear Reporter, (she didn't write that, just thought it)
I have four best friends on the island. If I didn't have work at the golf course, and shifts at dad's store, they'd probably be the only reason I get out of bed in the morning. You know what that's like, right? (she was asking the reporter questions now, maybe her imagination was bleeding into her reality.) I know that you met them a few times while I was growing up, but you never really knew them, did you? Do you remember when we used to watch Scooby Doo, when I was little? They're sort of like Mystery Inc.
