(found at the foot of Mount Thor, with shards and pulp)
Oh Maisie, Dear Maisie!
Just hold on a bit longer, your mother and father are on the way. We’re on the way, dear Maisie. I’m writing this from the car while daddy drives. We’ll be there soon, as soon as we can. Just hold on. With all your strength, hold on a bit longer.
We’re coming as fast as we can.
Here, I’ll answer your questions – written amazingly, I might add – as best as I can.
- Underneath a red maple tree by the church down the street from the hospital where you were born.
- I can’t answer for your father, but it happened when I woke up on the 17th birthday and could not stop crying.
- I’m always terrified at the reality I see but can never interact with.
- As moonbeams streamed down from the sky, and clouds swirled up in the sky, and stars shimmered through the darkness of the sky. The sky, mostly.
- Green has never made me happier. Red has never filled me with a deeper sadness. Hope and hopeless, I guess. The old clichés.
- I used to use the same pair of old scissors as shears in the kitchen. One day, your father went out to the department store and bought a new pair of real kitchen shears. High-quality. With rubber on the handle. With stainless steel. He sharpened them without telling me and left them on the counter one night before I came up to bed. It was the night before Thanksgiving – perhaps I should have mentioned that earlier. We had already been married three years, and I was considering a divorce – maybe I should have mentioned that too. Not that things were bad, but I did just feel as though they could have been better. So I came down the stairs the morning of Thanksgiving. I saw the shears. That was all.
Have someone read this all to you, of course. I can’t imagine you having to read it yourself – not in your current state, at least.
Hold on, dear Maisie. We’re coming as fast as we can.