He frowned at the letter sitting sideways in his mailbox, a pristine white envelope with a rose and gold trim stamp. He frowned even more when he realized that the letter was anonymous, tracing whoever’s delicate handwriting with his eyes as he read his name.  

Elias Boucher 

He never favored the way it rolled off his tongue, the way he had to keep pronouncing it over and over again for people. He especially hated if people would get confused with names like Elliot or Elijah, though he knew it was more of a when than an if. He hated it even more when he had to stare up into the eyes of so many strangers to correct them, their eyes full of unspoken apologies. And at some point, he disliked his name so much that he had just shortened it to Eli. He liked it better that way. It was simpler. No one would stumble over their words with a name like Eli. Eventually, everyone forgot his real name and it became the name no one could quite place. The name that he prayed would become forgotten. 

But this was different. Rather like an annoying mosquito perching itself on the side of his brain, sucking his thoughts and filling it with the itching feeling that someone wanted to get under his skin with his forgotten name. It gave him the chills, adding to the already biting morning air.  

He sighed and gave one final glance towards the mailbox outside of his picket fence home before returning to his room, up the stairs to where a peculiar letter was dying to be opened.  

He flicked on the lamp sitting at his desk as he grabbed the pocketknife in his junk drawer. He was good at that, multitasking. He could assume that was why he was able to see the sweat of his hands begin to moisten the envelope as his mind raced rapidly.  

Elias Boucher  

He read again, the same sickening feeling entering his stomach the first time he read it. Dread began to creep up on him as he began to rip the seal. What if it was a bomb? No, it was much too small for that. A camera? It could be. He’s watched shows where they disguise cameras in gifts so they can spy on people. 
 

Geez, he was going to make himself hyperventilate.  

It was only a letter.  

As he unfolded it, he could see the extensive sentences appear in frigid lines, clumping together and fastened like a string of garland.  

Dear Elias,  

Sorry that this letter appeared to you in this form, I wasn’t able to get your number, so I had to resort to this. I have a feeling you may be worrying right now, just like you always used to.  

He laughed at the predictability of his circumstances. 
 

I would expect nothing less from my childhood friend. 
 

His laughter ceased. He knew all too well who wrote the letter now, in fact it made his thoughts sprint past his mind even more. His brain felt like a machine in a casino, the discs spinning wildly with no way to tell what image was what. 
 

He only knew one person who would’ve ever referred to him as a childhood friend. Someone he spent countless hours with, a bond that couldn’t just be snipped like ribbon. It was stronger, like an oath. An oath that bonds you together for life not physically but in the memories of each other. Bound to look back fondly on them and wish you could experience it all again, at least once. He wasn’t sure when he took that oath but by the way eyes widened at the realization of it all, he knew it had been long, long ago that his mind decided for him.  

“Anabelle Levie,” he heard himself breathing out.  

I missed you, Elias. It’s been years since I’ve seen you, yet I still think of you everyday. I miss messing with you and your silly hair. Is it still curly? Still as blonde as it was when we were little? I have so many questions I am burning to ask you. It’s part of the reason why I wanted to write this letter in the first place. There’s so much I have yet to say to you, so many feelings I want to pour out, express my gratitude in a way. Unfortunately, that requires more than just words on paper and I think we ought to visit each other some time soon. Let’s go back to Elias and Anabelle. One last time. If you’re willing to make the drive, meet me in the parking garage of Saint Francis General Hospital next Thursday. I have some news I would like to share with you.  

Suddenly he felt…embarrassed with himself. Anabelle talked so wise now—frankly she always did but she seemed beyond her years now. It was intimidating. No more than that. He couldn’t imagine standing in the same room as her. Considering he’s already 18 and still hasn’t chosen a college says a lot about what he does with his life.  

He felt the same, the same old kid who found Anabelle sitting by a canopy of trees, stuck in her own little world. The same person who would listen to the endless facts Anabelle could think of, watching her mind turn as she looked to the sky for another one. All he could do was watch. And it was practically all he did during their childhood years, Anabelle creating elaborate stories with her mind as Eli listened. He wasn’t much of a listener but with Anabelle, he found it impossible not to listen to her.  

And here he was, listening. Listening to himself read Anabelle’s words, her voice once again.  

Nothing had changed.  

Another thing that stayed the same about Eli was Anabelle’s failure to persuade him, as much as she tried, she just couldn’t break into his stubborn shell.  

That’s probably why when he read the letter, he didn’t show up in the parking garage of Saint Francis General Hospital that following Thursday.  

— 

“Honey?” Eli heard his mom call from downstairs, a sense of urgency in her voice.  

It was odd since she was normally a fairly calm woman. 
 

“Yeah?” He called back, putting down his homework, face turned to the door.  

“Come to the kitchen please,” she said with a slight worry in her voice. 
 

An impending doom began to seep into his skin, his brain racking up all of the things that he had done wrong in the past year. As he walked down the stairs, he clamped his fists open and shut. His fingertips were cold as ice.  

He rounded the hallway to the scene unfolding in front of him. His mother hunched over the kitchen table with a paper and pencil looking up at the computer screen, squinting at the bright light the monitor illuminated. To top it off, she was on the phone too, her head awkwardly tilted to the side and connected to her shoulder while shakily scribbling our numbers and letters he couldn’t quite make out.  

“You good?” he said, scratching his neck and trying his best not to look suspicious.  

“Here,” she spoke without looking at him, handing over the house phone. It looked to be a completely unknown number.  

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Due to the fact that his mother wasn’t currently yelling at him with lips wired into a laughable scowl, he was sure he didn’t upset her. That didn’t mean he wasn’t confident that something else got her all serious.  

“Hello?” He spoke into the phone, leaning his back onto one of the kitchen walls. 
 

“Elias,” he heard a familiar voice speak, letting out a breath of relief.  

Anabelle’s mom. 
 

“Mrs. Levie. Everything okay?” He questioned, a slight worry beginning to stir in the pit of his stomach. 
 

Was she going to question him as to why he didn’t show up when Anabelle asked him to go out? Was he being berated for standing her up? It would explain his mother’s unusual behavior. Though he couldn’t quite explain why he did what he did, sure she wouldn’t get angry at him. 
 

Right?  

He could hear a pause from the phone, a hesitant breath. It was like ice on a lake, threatening to break under the pressure. And then there it was.  

“Anabelle’s not doing so well.”  

Eli felt his organs lurch, his breakfast threatening to rise from his throat.  

“What?” he coughed out in surprise.  

“She’s sick, Elias. I told her not to write that letter…”  

He didn’t realize that he let her trail off, his thoughts just happened to run parallel to her voice. So many questions filtered through his mind, all leading to one haunting word. It terrorized him, made him feel sick. He had a headache. No, a body ache. His entire body ached with guilt.
 

Death. 
 

The word struck him like a bullet, a single word piercing through his tender flesh. He tried to change his mind away from that word, that haunting subject. The bullet felt as though it was getting patched by painter’s tape. 
 

Death. 

It struck him again.  

“Is Anabelle going to die?” He blurted it out without thinking. 
 

He looked to his mother, mouth as wide as her eyes, tears beginning to well up in her worn sockets. She dropped her hand over her mouth and crossed her arms, staring at him. 
 

The room was silent other than the breathing of Mrs. Levie on the other line. Eli could hear her breath a shaky breath in, blow it out.  

“It’s likely.”  

“Huh,” he said matter of factly, looking towards the ceiling as he tried not to let the tears fall. He eventually gave up though, his eyes fluttering to a close and letting hot seeping tears run down his cheeks. He bit his lip to stop any sound from leaking out of him.  

He could barely breathe. When he did it, it was jagged. Like he was having muscle spasms in the canal of his throat. He put a free hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat wildly within the cages of his ribs.  

Regrets began to cloud his mind. If only he would have known better. Known earlier. He maybe would’ve been able to spend more time with the only person who he would remember during the quiet days. The times when he would stare out his window and imagine the two of them playing together. From five to eleven years old that was all they could do.  

He looked back at his memories with so much longing as well as the girl who clouded them. He couldn’t bear to imagine that she wouldn’t be out there doing something in the world. With her mind he only wondered what she could accomplish.  

Could’ve. 

“I know…” Mrs. Levie spoke up again, her voice weary like she had aged an additional ten years based solely on his reaction to the news. He was sure that it only made it more real, saying it out loud. In a way, it brought Eli back to reality. “I know she wrote a letter for you to come see her. Do you think you could come to the hospital as soon as you can?” 
 

He wiped his eyes, nodded, realized she couldn’t see him, agreed aloud. 

After a while it became calm again, the news blew over but still creating a storm over everyone’s head. The phone call was originally to figure out a date Eli could come see her anyways.  

He counted down the days in his head, feelings of excitement and nervousness growing by the second. What did she look like now? He could only imagine she was pretty; she always was at a young age. He remembered her curly brown spirals that erupted around her round head, eyes just as big and just as brown. Her personality being the polar opposite, small until she was willing to show people close to her just how big it could get. It was full of wonder, vast plains of knowledge basking in the wild nature of her stories. 
 

Her stories.  

He wished he could hear another one, act it out with her, do it all again. She would always add onto them in the most peculiar way. Most of her plot twists were whiplash for his brain.  

Didn’t mean he didn’t like hearing them.  

When he went to bed that night, he imagined himself in great fields of green grass, the sun shining brighter than usual through a big canopy of trees. He could hear from the left of him a scuffle of leaves and the scraping of tree bark against fabric.  

“You wanna hear another one?” The voice said.  

“I always do, Ana.”  

End of Part 1