Alice could hardly remember how everything had started. Or at least she preferred not to. By then, it seemed too banal. Absurd, almost unreal.
Paula’s parents taking her to Buenos Aires. Their last evening at the movies. An epic love story, of course. Then, the promise of writing letters every week. But not as themselves. That would have been too common, just papers doomed to be forgotten. No, they would be James and Elizabeth. Tragically separated by the war. Any war.
“Darling”, started the first letter, “I don’t know if you will receive this letter. News of more deaths arrive every day, and my heart stops while I read the list for the tenth time, making sure that you are alive, that you will come back. Even though, deep down, I still know you are not dead. My heart would have felt it, even if there is an ocean between us. Come back soon. Always yours, only yours. Elizabeth”
How old where they? Fifteen? A childish game, no doubt, but a game they stayed faithful to month after month. Their world grew deeper with details from Elizabeth’s life at the farm, with stories from James’ fellow soldiers. At leats they were more interesting than high school, which only seemed to offer an endless sucession of half-empty days.
“Frederic wounds are getting better, but something has broken inside his head. His memories have become elusive, and most of the time, i don’t think he recognizes us. God, I don’t know what I would do if that happened to me. If I couldn’t remember the taste of strawberry in your lips. I believe my body would still search for you, guided by fate. Yours, even in oblivion. James.”
When Alice received that letter, she had already started college. She had also spent a week at the hospital after a motorbike accident, had swore not to speak to her parents again, forgoten her words, and sworn them again. She had also tried cocaine for the first and last time, during a night she only half-regreted. Nevertheless, Alice had started to feel that all of those experiences where a mere interlude, an automated life lived by someone who only looked like her. Who talked and moved like her, but who was another person. She was Elizabeth. And everything else were shadows.
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To be continued
Paula’s parents taking her to Buenos Aires. Their last evening at the movies. An epic love story, of course. Then, the promise of writing letters every week. But not as themselves. That would have been too common, just papers doomed to be forgotten. No, they would be James and Elizabeth. Tragically separated by the war. Any war.
“Darling”, started the first letter, “I don’t know if you will receive this letter. News of more deaths arrive every day, and my heart stops while I read the list for the tenth time, making sure that you are alive, that you will come back. Even though, deep down, I still know you are not dead. My heart would have felt it, even if there is an ocean between us. Come back soon. Always yours, only yours. Elizabeth”
How old where they? Fifteen? A childish game, no doubt, but a game they stayed faithful to month after month. Their world grew deeper with details from Elizabeth’s life at the farm, with stories from James’ fellow soldiers. At leats they were more interesting than high school, which only seemed to offer an endless sucession of half-empty days.
“Frederic wounds are getting better, but something has broken inside his head. His memories have become elusive, and most of the time, i don’t think he recognizes us. God, I don’t know what I would do if that happened to me. If I couldn’t remember the taste of strawberry in your lips. I believe my body would still search for you, guided by fate. Yours, even in oblivion. James.”
When Alice received that letter, she had already started college. She had also spent a week at the hospital after a motorbike accident, had swore not to speak to her parents again, forgoten her words, and sworn them again. She had also tried cocaine for the first and last time, during a night she only half-regreted. Nevertheless, Alice had started to feel that all of those experiences where a mere interlude, an automated life lived by someone who only looked like her. Who talked and moved like her, but who was another person. She was Elizabeth. And everything else were shadows.
----
To be continued
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