Mira Writes · The Long Way Down to Morning · Pulse Beat
The letter came in the post, which was strange, because nobody wrote letters. Anika. I have started this seventeen times. I wanted to say sorry and every version sounded like a lie or a press…
The letter came in the post, which was strange, because nobody wrote letters.
Anika. I have started this seventeen times. I wanted to say sorry and every version sounded like a lie or a press release, so here is the bare thing: I miss you, I am sorry I did not push harder, I am sorry I took the chair and did not know how to say it was not what I wanted. You vanished and I did not know how to find you. Your mother's number was in your file and I called it, once, last month, and she said you were sewing and that you were well. I wept in a stairwell.
I am leaving the orchestra at the end of the season. Not because I do not love it. Because I think I was playing so that people would not see how frightened I was. You taught me that, though you did not know. I am coming to India in March, if you will let me. I would like to hear you play one note.
One note is enough. Mira.
Anika read it six times, sitting on the step, in the rain. Then she went inside and wrote back, in a single line: Come.