27. GHOST LETTERS
GHOST LETTERS
Inside of The Inflorescence, the walls are teeming with pastel pink oyster mushrooms and the ground is overflowing with luminescent ghost mushrooms. Plumes of fungal spores curl and gently float around.
The air is crisp and sweet. Fireflies glow.
Green tree frogs croak to each other and cicadas scream.
Envelopes are fanned out under the rounded opening of a willow tree in the center of the room.
Olivia thumbs through each envelope. They are years of failed correspondence to her sisters.
Stamps torn off the corners. The receivers’ names are scribbled out in black ink.
Some of the envelopes have been torn into small pieces and stitched together with blades of bluestem grass.
A tightening in her abdomen makes her dizzy.
Her head is throbbing. There’s a heavy ache in her chest. She caresses the letters.
Her face is hot. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She remembers writing each one.
She wonders if Isela read her letters. She wonders if Isela mocked her sincerity.
If she was embarrassed by it. As she combs through the rest of the envelopes, she finds follow-up letters from her sisters who kept writing in spite of never receiving anything from Olivia.
None of them are opened. The envelopes are pristine.
Olivia sits with the truth for a moment.
Her chest hurts. She pounds on herself with her fist. She sits still.
Anger creeps into her. She reflects on the reality of her mother.
The reality of how she’s grown up. Her mother, convincing her that she didn't have it bad enough.
Her mother, admitting she wanted to inflict more violence, but she stopped herself.
Her mother, demanding to be put on a pedestal while confessing that she didn't know how to love someone else, especially not a daughter.
Olivia reads through each thoughtful letter from Lucia and Isabel.
She puts them in order by date. An overwhelming warmth takes over.
A sigh of relief. It’s a new feeling for Olivia.
How can she miss people she has never met before?
They seem kind. Gentle. Tender. She puts her face into her palms. She weeps in silence under the willow tree who watches over her as mossy moths flutter around her and cover her from head to toe until she looks like she has always been a part of the room’s ecosystem.