FridayFlash #75 – The Letter

"So, have you read it yet?"

Janine looked down, flipping the opened envelope slowly in her hands. She shook her head. "Why not?"

She looked up and met my eyes briefly, before flicking away. "I don't know," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper, "what if... what if there's something horrible?"

"There could be," I acknowledged, "but what if there's something amazing?"

She started at the letter, the letter we all get on our 18th birthdays. I'd get mine next week. The letter from our future selves. Written on paper -- for some of us the only actual paper we'd ever own -- every adult got one opportunity, just one, to write a letter to their 18-year-old self.

For some it was an opportunity to change their lives, to undo past mistakes. For others it was a reassurance that things would turn out okay, or share lessons they wished they'd learned earlier in life. And there were some who never got the chance. They either didn't have a letter in waiting when they died, or they'd actively chosen not to send one. Their younger selves would receive the same envelope, but inside it would simply read "your future is unwritten."

I was curious both what I'd read and what I'd someday write; theoretically those two were the same, but everyone knew someone who knew someone who said the letter they wrote differed wildly from the one they'd received. Urban legend or actual fact? Did it happen, or did we just need to believe it could happen? I knew I would read mine as soon as it arrived, but there were some who didn't want to know. It was easier, always easier, not to know how things would end. And Janine was one who wasn't sure if she'd risk knowing something she'd rather not.

"Do you want me to read it?" It was taboo to ask someone to read your letter, to put the weight on them of knowing what you might not want to know. But I could volunteer.

The envelope shook slightly as she handed it to me. I pulled out the letter -- it was yellowed, the author had lived many years and likely refolded it many times, and short - she hadn't had much to say. The paper threatened to tear as I unfolded it; I read quickly and then exhaled the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"It's okay," I handed the envelope back with a smile, "nothing to worry about."

Janie's shoulders dropped, and her eyes softened as she took the paper back. "I'll read it at home," she said as she folded it up to fit in her purse. She got up and left without so much as a goodbye, walking quickly in the direction of her home.

The following week was both the fastest and the shortest I could ever recall. And then it was my turn to stand there, Janine at my side, with my envelope. Despite what I'd always claimed, I still hesitated. I shook my head to clear my thoughts then tore the top of the envelop pulling out what was inside.

One sheet. Only one. It wasn't new at least, but it wasn't wildly aged either. The paper was folded in three, but not many times over -- it looked like it was one of the rare ones that had been written once, folded, and sent.

I glanced up at Janine, suddenly glad she was there. She nodded once, slowly.

I flipped it over and read. My brow crinkled as I looked up at Janine.

"What does it say?" she asked, head tilted slightly. I handed her the paper. She read just as quickly and looked up at me. "I don't get it."

"I know."

I looked over at the paper she still held. The most important thing my future self could think of to tell me.

Never Visit:
- The Louvre at Christmas
- The Hopewell Rocks under a full moon
- Hadrian's Wall at Hallowe'en
- Urulu in the rain
- Kilimanjaro in the sun

Today, on my 18th birthday, I'd never been more than two hours from my home town. Travel seemed a lot of work and effort for no real benefit -- I'd seen all those places in VR. There was no need to go in person. There was no reason to imagine I would ever even consider going to one of those places, much less all of them. So why such a note? Why warn me against such places.

I pulled out my phone and did some quick searching. The Louvre wasn't even open at Christmas? And Urulu, Ayer's Rock, was in a desert. So the odds of me ever being there, and getting rained on, were pretty slim. Hadrian's wall was a crumbling relic; there's zero reason I'd ever be there, and Hallowe'en was a child's holiday. What did that matter?

I shrugged at Janine as I folded the paper and stuck it in my pocket. "Well, if that's the only advice my future self can give, I guess things will be okay? I mean, it's not like any of that would ever happen."

"But," Janine hesitated.

"But what?"

"Well, you must've had a reason for writing that... Which means, somehow, you must've ended up there, at some point. So maybe just..."

"Just what?"

"Just keep it in mind. Someday, if it seems you might be in one of those places, just... remember. There must've been a reason."

"Yeah okay."

I tried to put it out of my mind. Why would I have ever written such a thing? What would possibly happen if one of those circumstances was to occur? I was taking a gap year next year. My parents were pushing me to travel but I’d been planning to work on my music. But maybe... Maybe I should go to some of those places at times that were not aligned with the list. Just to see what the big deal was. Scotland -- I could go there first, in September, and be long gone by Hallowe'en. Surely there'd be no risk to that. And once I'd seen it, there'd never be any reason to go back. Crisis adverted.

And as I booked the tickets, I wondered, briefly, if future me had any idea the impact that letter might have? Right. Well it turns out my future self knew 18-year-old me better than I ever imagined. For what was the number one way to make me do something? Tell me not to, under any circumstances, do it. That letter got me out of my town, showed me the world, and opened my mind to imagination and wonder. I would never know if future me originally wrote that letter as a reflection of the most important parts of my life, or merely in hopes of making important things happen, but as I sat down to write the letter that would change my life, I'm forever grateful I did.

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Based off the following writing prompt:

#FridayFlash #74: A moonlit stroll

She didn’t know why she awoke, so suddenly and completely.  She’d only been asleep a couple hours, but she knew she was up for a while now.   Stumbling in the dark, she grabbed some clothes and left the room so as not to wake her partner.  The old house was quiet – not even the furnace was running, so every creak of the floor was magnified.  The highway, almost never heard in the distance, sounded as though it were right next door.

She dressed quickly, and her curious dog – always up for an adventure – sleepily came to investigate.  “Want to go for a walk?” she whispered, instantly animating the dog who started spinning in circles.  She smiled and ushered her out the door before the excited scrambling would wake her sleeping partner.  

It was eerily light outside – the harvest moon far brighter than the widely spaced streetlights.  It was a safe neighbourhood – she wasn’t overly concerned about being out alone, even so late.

She and the dog made their way along their habitual route, as one does, the dog eagerly leading the way.  Something seemed, not quite right – it took her a moment to figure out that all the noise had stopped.   That which had been so loud in her house, was silent outdoors.  She couldn’t hear her footsteps as they scrunched the gravel, nor her dog panting with excitement.    She shook her head once to clear her ears, but it did nothing.  Up ahead, she saw a woman walking toward her.  Odd, given it was the middle of the night and she never even saw people on this road during the day.  The moonlight framed the woman in such a way she appeared to glow.

She felt a shiver go down her spin, and shortened the dog’s leash, pulling her closer.  “Hello,” she said as she passed the woman.  The woman tilted her head and looked at her as though studying her, before continuing on her way without saying anything.

Weird she thought, and turned toward home, suddenly far less interested in being out alone at night.  But when she turned the corner, it wasn’t the houses she walked past every day in front of her.  Instead of her nice suburban neighbourhood, all she could see were farms.   Sound returned, but instead of the mildly aggravating growl of the highway, she heard the quiet occasional scurry of a small nocturnal critter.

She spun around, but the corner she had just turned was gone.  Her dog was sniffing eagerly, pulling on the leash, clearly enjoying this new landscape, but she felt her heartrate accelerate as panic quickly set in.  What the…. This made no sense.  It wasn’t possible.  And yet, it had happened.

She continued walking toward. Where her home should be, having no idea what she’d find.   She felt a huge relief when she got to her street to see her house was still there; it was the only one around, but it was there.  It was, however, not quite right…. There were no cars in the driveway for one thing.  Even if for some odd reason her partner had gone out, her car should still be there.   And the For Sale sign that waved wistfully in the darkness when she’d left, was missing.

She was not terribly surprised when she tried the door, to find it locked.  But she had noticed that not far from where her garage used to be there was now a barn, so she led the dog that way, figuring they could stay there for the night and figure out what was going on in daylight.

“When did you get here?”   She was awoken by a pre-adolescent boy wearing clothes she’d only ever seen in the movies.  “Mom!  We’ve got another one,” he shouted.

“Another one what?” she asked, hearing the mother’s faint reply from the house.   

He just shook his head, “Mom will tell you,” and went deeper into the barn.

“Oh dear, you must’ve had a rough night.  When are you from?”

“Uh, what?” The boy’s mother stood before her, a heavyset woman with an easy smile who smelled slightly of fresh bread.

“What year is it?” the woman asked, as though that were the most natural question upon finding someone sleeping in her barn.

“Uh 2020?” hating that it came out as a question, but suddenly doubting the truth she knew.

“And this is your house?” she asked.

“Well, yes….?  Although we don’t have a barn…” 

“Okay, well it’s 1852 now child, why don’t you come have breakfast and we’ll talk.”

She followed, flabbergasted, into the house she knew so well and yet not at all.  Everything seemed to suit what little she knew of the time period.   The woman gestured to sit down and put a plate of biscuits in front of her.

“You crossed the ley lines under the harvest moon and greeted the traveler,” she said as though that made perfect sense.

“Uh, I took my dog for a walk in the moonlight?” 

“That’s okay child, it happens more often than you’d think.  Fortunately, we know how to send you home.”

The relief she felt was instant and overwhelming, but followed almost immediately by intense curiosity.

“Wait, you mean this has happened before?”

“Oh yes, at least a couple times a year we get visitors.  The first few were a shock – a couple of them stayed and it took a while to figure out how to send the others home.  All of them live in this house in their time, and all of them walked under the harvest moon and met a woman who said nothing to them.   You’re here for a week, but on our next moon, we can send you home.”

“Are you sure?  I mean, if people leave, how do you know they get home?”

“We don’t for sure, but we had one visitor that wasn’t surprised to be here, which makes us think it works.   There’s a diary – I’ll show you where it’s hidden, that we ask all the travellers to write in.  One person had found it while renovating the house – apparently inside it, are references made by people who returned home.  That’s the best I can do.   But if you don’t want to risk it, we can help you find a life here.”

She spent the week as their guest in a house she considered her own, in the most fascinating history lesson ever.  The family asked many questions about her time, interested more in daily life than in world events, and they shared what little they knew of the magic surrounding their farm.  They’d had visitors from farther in the future than her, but didn’t have any details to share.

When the week was up, she followed their directions, holding tightly to her dog, and woke to her alarm buzzing in her ear.  Rolling over she grabbed her phone, which confirmed it was really the next morning. 

She laughed at herself for the intensity of her dream, and then realized she was dressed.  Eyes wide she got up and went up to the attic.  In a hidden cabinet, she’d never known about before, she found an old leather journal.

With shaking hands and complete disbelief, she sat down on the dusty floor and started to read.