Dear John

Everyone thinks my head is always in the clouds just because my mind is on the stars, but they’re wrong. My mind is on the stars because they hold the truth. They are the diary of our past, and they tell the story of our future. Plus, they have a front row seat to our present. They see everything. From their perspective, all is known. So while most everyone else has their head pointed down on a screen these days, I have my eyes locked up on the stars.

My father always said, “Look up son, or you’ll never know what you’re missing.”

I know he said this because growing up my head was always in a book, even if it was about stars, and the truth is, he was right. His biggest dream was always to be an astronomer, but he came from a different generation and had a family to provide for. I had the generational luxury of “exploring my passion” and making something of myself with it in the process.

I was lucky, and believe me, I am well aware of that indisputable fact. Kids these days have really lost sight of that. They’re out here organizing and complaining about this and that when they have a full menu of options and benefits. I wonder if that isn’t just the nature of humanity in the world, though? As soon as things get better, people find a new gripe to grip onto.

What I still can’t wrap my mind around, though, is why my father gave me the biggest clue to our family’s sinister secret the way he did. He must have known that I would figure it out right away. Looking back, I could say I already had my suspicions, but the truth is, I didn’t. The last time my father said those words to me, I thought he was talking about my brother, and I wondered Why is he telling me this now? Does he really think I don’t know the truth? We’re brothers after all. I never could have imagined that there would be a deeper layer to that onion.

Growing up, I had my own set of gripes, like any young man. Why did my father have to be one of the most wanted international spies of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries? Why did he have to have a twin brother who wanted the same thing? Why did they have to rope my aunt and my mother into it all?

At the time, I hated him for it, and sometimes, I still hate him for it. I know I shouldn’t, especially since he’s dead, but I do. I can’t help it. He died leaving me with the worst possible thoughts in my head.

Just after my father repeated his favorite motto to me for the very last time on his deathbed, he said, “Watch out for your mother, son. Lord help me, I love that woman almost more than the stars above, but she could very well be the death of us all.”

Not to sound too unrealistic, but my father said those words to me, and then he immediately died. Full on, open mouth and wide-eyed, like a bad actor in a high school play. I’m really not exaggerating. He was always a bit of a jokester, my father, so at first I thought maybe he was just pulling my leg, but after a few minutes of telling his favorite knock-knock jokes and pinching his nose I knew it was the end.

After clearing my head and regathering my senses, my mind started to spin.

What could he possibly have meant by that?

Ten years later, I still have absolutely no clue. I’ve asked my brother, but he doesn’t seem to know anything either—operative word being seem. I can tell he’s hiding something from me. I just have no idea what.

It’s like my father always said, “You’ll never know all that it is you don’t know, and the more you learn, all that you’ll really learn is just how much you don’t know about anything.”

I took that to heart and learned that truly and deeply once I went off to college. If there is one common denominator to every graduate of the University of Chicago, it’s that they learned just enough to see how sorely uninformed they are about everything.

But back to my mother. I really tried to just forget what my father said to me about her on his deathbed, but I’m not gonna lie, it’s been hard. I mean, how would you keep something like that to yourself? Especially when you already know the other secrets. I know it has to all fit together somehow, but how?

Clue 1: My father and his brother were wanted American spies.

Wanted by whom? Unclear.

Clue 2: My brother is not actually my brother. He’s my cousin.  

Clue 3: My mother could be the death of us all.

What?

I suppose what I’m doing right now isn’t the best way to figure it out, if for no other reason than it goes directly against my father’s deathbed advice that plays on a never-ending loop in my mind.

“Look up son, or you’ll never know what you’re missing.”

I set my pen down in the crease of my open journal. I take off my glasses and glance up at the ceiling. Suspended from a small, metal hook hanging on clear fishing line is an origami shape that I cannot identify. I slide my chair underneath the creature and reach up to unhook it from its line. I slide my chair back over to the kitchen table and begin unfolding the scales of what I now realize is a scorpion. It is one of the most intricate pieces of origami I’ve ever seen. As I slowly unfold it, I recognize my mother’s handwriting.

After three minutes of carefully smoothing its creases, I lay the sheet of paper flat in front of me and begin to read.

Dear John,

This is not how I want to do this, but at this point it is inevitable.

I am tired. I am sick and tired—of following your lead and tiptoeing in your footsteps. I am the one who should be getting the recognition, if not for your work, then at least for my sister’s. Do you really think she was capable of doing everything she did all these years? Did you really not think I was?

How insulting.

The three of you really left me no choice. After all, I had my precious pride to think of. I couldn’t very well let that go bruised and unchecked.

So, yes, this letter is to tell you that I’ve switched sides. I am no longer on your team, nor have I been for some time. I’m working for him to bring you all down, and frankly, I don’t care who I hurt in the process. The only people I’ve asked him to protect are my precious son and his family. I wouldn’t have anything happen to his wife and daughters.

I’m not a monster.

Anyway, I better wrap this up soon, seeing as you’re about to die—fingers crossed. If only I could hasten the process. I promised him I wouldn’t, though, much to my deep dismay.

Rats.

I suppose I should abide by his rules now that I’ve switched to his side—at least for now.

Anyway anyway, thank you again for being my husband and for giving me our son. He is a treasure. Your time is coming soon now, though, so I will end the letter here.

Good luck in the afterlife. You may still need it.

Condolences,

Cornelia