Letters to a Friend… #Fiction #WIP

Letters to a Friend

My Dearest Anne

I wish you were here; America seems so far away. I am writing today as I feel I am losing my mind. Of late, I am hearing two voices clearly, in my mind. Florence and Albert Wilson, they say. Florence insists on being called Flo.

They tell me they are my parents. They tell me my soul belongs to the five-year-old son they lost. They have mentioned so many things that I know, such as the birthmark I have behind my right ear that their son also had.

Certain habits make me wonder, am I hearing them, or is it my imagination? I cannot be sure. One afternoon, I imagined them sitting in a small parlour tuning into an old radio, looking for their lost son. They tell me that is precisely how it is. The frequencies they can tune into, and somehow, they managed to find me.

If I am to believe such a thing, does that mean there are no new souls? That we are all second-hand, recycled human beings?

It made me wonder, could that be why I was such a tomboy? Why my mother had a hard time getting me to wear dresses? How I have always liked to beat the boys at any game? Especially climbing trees and collecting conkers.

Should I have been born a boy?

I must say, I never felt like a boy. I like being a woman and mother of two boys. My husband, Richard, tells me I am overworked. He doesn’t understand, although I am busy with my new commission. The author sought me out herself, as she loved the drawings I did for my last commission.

I do not believe that is the problem. They almost know what I think before I think it. Last night I had a strange thought. Could a person be born with two souls? That one soul being so much younger than the other? Could that be why I chose to be an illustrator for children’s books?

Maybe I have that wrong. If indeed I have two souls, I cannot know how old the other may be. I cannot help believing that Florence and Albert are real. They have told me so much about themselves. Where they were born, where they lived, so many places, until Albert’s father died, and he inherited three grocery shops. That, Flo, tells me, is when they settled down.

One thing that unnerves me a little is Flo tells me they lived in my house for three years.

My dearest friend, please don’t think me crazy. Please write back soon, as I know you will put my mind at ease.

                                  Your dearest friend

                                                     Alice

To be continued…

©AnitaDawes2022