The Letters I Never Knew Existed - Short Story

Fiction, Sapphic

Found on Pinterest; Artist: Karlovy Cross

Coming back to my hometown, let alone my childhood home, was not on my bingo card this year. But the woman who raised me is dead. The only family I had left. Gone in seconds. I sit in the driveway, with tears blurring my vision. I lean my head against the headrest and take in a deep breath. The rain begins to dance on the hood of my car and it soothes me.

I step outside in the rain and it dampens my curls as I slowly walk to the front door. The grass is overgrown and the bushes are unkept. I sob in the rain, and my chest tightens. It’s been two years since I’ve stepped foot on the cobblestone trail to Abuela’s house. An unbearable grief nearly sends me to my knees, but I hold myself up with the railing of the steps. My legs shake as I walk up the stairs, and the wood creaks beneath my feet. A sudden, thunderous roar startles me and I fumble the house keys. I place my hand on my chest, rubbing my sternum. Hoping it will calm my heart that is beating so fast, it pinches in pain. I sniffle and wipe the rain off my face with my sweater.

Memories flood my mind as I walk inside the house. I look to the left, at the dining table where Abuela and I used to make tamales for Christmas. I remember when I came out to her junior year of high school, and she said, “Luisa, nothing in this world could make me love you any less.” How unbelievably lucky I felt to be loved so unconditionally.

I slowly take steps towards the second floor and the rain is a soundtrack, kissing the windows with its droplets. The moment I make it to the top of the stairs, my bedroom door is open, and it’s exactly how I left it. The light pink walls still pinned with a collection of dried flowers. My essence stayed despite being hundreds of miles away. I pause, and lean on the doorframe. Reminiscing of the time I had my first heartbreak, and how I bawled my eyes out. I lied, curled up, next to her in my full sized bed. She simply let me gasp for air, running her fingers through my hair as I wailed. She was the best mother I could have ever asked for.

Her bedroom is across the hall from mine, and the door is a sliver away from being closed. The tears on my waterline buildup again, and I wipe them. There is a tremor in my hand as I lift it to place my fingertips on the door. I gently slide it open, and the room is dim, and gloomy just like the clouds hiding the sun in the window. My eyes pan the room and the bed is snug against the wall with an open beige box sitting on top of it. Letters are scattered all over the bed. Abuela must have been looking though it before she got into the car accident.

I hold myself in by the waist, my clothes are moist and cold. I walk over to her bed, and the box holds a pile of old letters, tied by a red string. There are old, black and white photos of a young Abuela with a woman I have never seen before. They must have been in their early twenties. So young and full of life. I couldn’t help but grin through the tears.

There are portraits of this woman, smiling and shying away from the camera, trying to hideaway. There’s a glimmer of happiness in her eyes. Abuela must have been the one to take this photograph. Another photo is of this same woman giving Abuela a kiss on the cheek. And I don’t think I have ever seen her look this happy. Who is this woman?

I rummage through the letters and they are all from an Isabella to Maria, my Abuelita. The letters had come from Tequila, Mexico, her hometown. All of them beginning with ‘mi amor’ and ending with ‘tuya para siempre’. Was Abuela a lesbian? I start to ponder my entire life with her. She never brought anyone around, she did have acquaintances though, but that was it. She was always the brightness in a room, the one to uplift a strangers day. Not once did I ever see her have a lover.

I pick up a letter, that is stained with old tears. The ink had dispersed from the droplets but the words are still legible. A tale of a forbidden love unravels before my eyes. I look through the dates and the letters stopped coming after five years. This letter is the earliest one I could find. My heart breaks for Abuela to realize she had to hide who she truly was from the world. How she married my late Abuelo to help her parents financially, which ended with her moving to the United States, away from the woman she loved. Resulting in her becoming a mother to a woman who would later give birth to me and runaway from the responsibility.

Mi Abuelita never got to live her life and it tears me to shreds. I slowly fall to the ground, sobbing, realizing that she had to watch me live a life she was too afraid to live. Why didn’t she come out after Abuelo passed when I was ten? Why didn’t she tell me the truth after I told her I was a lesbian? I rummage through the letters once more for an answer. But all I find are words of yearning, and secrecy. And then it abruptly stops.

Why did it stop? Why did they never rekindle their love? I am left with questions that will never be answered. Did Isabella fall out of love? Did Abuelita end it? Or did Isabella die and she’s now with her in the afterlife? I hope for the latter.