Ana

The letter arrived after Michael had already left. It was just as well, for if he had stayed a little longer, he would have discovered it and tossed it in the trash, muttering—as he often did—about how careless people could be with addresses. I would have defended them, saying people are too busy to double-check such things, and he would have given me that playful look of his, followed by, “what do you know about a busy life? You haven’t worked a day in your life, my love. And I’ll make sure it stays that way.” He would have winked, one of those beautiful winks that always made me laugh, though a pang of guilt would have lingered in my chest because, deep down, I knew he was right. 

But Michael didn’t see the letter. With the initial W.H. The one in the yellowed envelope, accompanied by a postcard from New York. No, it wasn’t for me, but it had been sent to this address.

I decided to open it. Michael always says women are born with an innate curiosity, no matter how hard one try to suppress it. He must be right, because the handwriting of this stranger drew me in, and I didn’t hesitate for a second before tearing open the envelope.

Don’t you love me anymore, Ana? Is that it? Is there someone else? You must tell if there is. You promised to wait for me, to come back to this poor devil who is dying for you, who breathes and whispers your name with every breath. Speak to me, please, even if it’s just to curse me. A single word from you would heal any wound caused by your silence.

At first, I wasn’t sure what a woman like me could say to this stranger. But I had known Ana, and I has loved her so much that my hands instinctively reached for pen and paper, moving with a wildness that surprised me.

To W.H.,

Good morning. You don’t know me but your letter has stirred something in me that I thought long dead. Let me, in return, ease your pain. Anna has rented her house to a couple—my husband and me—for the summer. Let me describe ir to you. It’s on the Atlantic coast, white and weathered by the sun, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a living room with large windows that look directly onto the open sea. The ocean has its eyes—Ana’s, I mean. Almost translucent. And in the living room there’s an old lamp, one of this touch-sensitive ones. Isn’t it fascinating how something so futuristic comes from a generation ago? We use switches now, which I think is a shame. We don’t send letter anymore either, but I believe there are things that words on paper con express better than a voice ever could. I’m sure you understand what I mean.

Take care,

—Elise.

I folded the paper in half and slipped it into a pink envelope, one Michael had bought for me when he suggested I write to my parents more often during our stay at the beach.

The walk to the post office was short and quiet, just three blocks away. It’s a beautiful place here by the sea. The sound of waves crashing in the distance, the salty breeze carrying the taste of the ocean—it’s exhilarating. People strolled along the bay in bathing suits and hats they’d never dare wear in the city, embracing the freedom of the unknown. I, however, walked in my usual clothes, feeling like a fake tourist, devoid of that sense of liberation. 

It felt strange carrying that pink envelope, as though it didn’t belong to me, as though someone might snatch it from my hands at any moment. In the distance, I thought I saw a figure watching me. I could almost swear it was her.

I knew the letter had been delivered when another arrived, just after Michael kissed me goodbye.

“How have you been feeling here?” He asked me before leaving.

“I feel good, close to her” I said, smiling with a strange impatient, an adrenaline rushing through my veins, giving me chills. It had been a long time since I’d felt this way.

He smiled back.

“I'm glad, love.”

Michael had found a job here for the summer. His restless nature didn’t allow him to spend his morning wandering aimlessly, as I often did. He was a salesman—disciplined, demanding, and always on the move. He woke up early yo run, took cold showers, and then headed straight to work. He told everyone it was vacation, but the truth was, he’d brought me here because of my chronic apathy after what happened to Anna. I’d stopped eating, stopped sleeping. I just stared out the window, watching cars pass, the sun set and the neon lights flicker on, waiting to see her somewhere on the street, waiting to catch her smile.

Michael believed I needed a change of scenery—more sun and more air in a place that had one belonged to her. And he was right. I loved waking uo to the sound of waves and the cries of seagulls. I wondered how Ana had seen the world; sometimes, it felt like she lent me her eyes, and suddenly the colors were brighter, the world more vivid. There was a strange familiarity with this house by the bay, a longing in my chest I hadn’t felt in years.

Ana urged me to wait for those letters. I could feel it.

The letter came on the same pale, yellowed paper, though I was sure it had been white years ago. It was from a man named Wallace. He said Ana had been his girlfriend in college. That she’d promise to write to him but never did.

I thought of Ana—her golden hair, her eyes like the summer sky, her perfect smile with those two slightly larger front teeth. I pictured her surfing on the ocean waves and it struck me that I could never compare my life to hers, not even now, not even here.

Dear Elise,

I’m embarrassed by my previous behavior. I'm sorry you had to read such a tantrum from a grown man.

You’re right about life seeming to regress, becoming duller. Humans have an obsession with the mundane, I suppose. My grandmother had one of those lamps and you’re right—they have a charm you don’t find anymore.

Tell me, Elise, would you be so kind to tell me about her? I need to know if she’s met someone else. You see, my life has been on pause the moment we said goodbye, and I need to move on. How is Ana? Has she changed at all? I hope I’m not intruding on your vacation with your husband. Don’t feel obligated to reply if I am. Just…

-Wallace Harris.

I read the letter on the small backyard deck, lying on a cot. The words rushed into my mind like the waves crashing against the shore—fierce, desperate, sweeping everything in their path. I imagined Wallace’s voice would sound like that.

The sun was sinking behind the ocean when I heard the door creak and Michael’s quiet footsteps approaching. A pang of guilt shot through me as I hid the letter under the thin mattress. He looked at me and said it seemed like I’d seen a ghost. I told him I was just surprised.

“Your mind wanders off somewhere else,” he said, lying down beside me. “I’d like to know what you’re thinking.”

I thought about telling him about the letter, about Wallace’s words that sounded like the sea breaking, about the love someone else still felt for Ana. But I knew what he’d say, the look he’d give me. He’d take it away and I couldn’t let that happen.

“I've been thinking about how much I miss feeling you close to me,” I said instead. His expression softened and a gentle smile spread across his face.

“That can be arranged.”

Michael led me to the bed and undressed me slowly, with the familiar comfort of knowing what I liked, his lips brushing against my skin, making it prickle. He whispered my name in the dimness of the room that had once been hers. Ana filled my mind and something in me allowed me to become bolder, biting and clawing at him, screaming his name, I imagined the expression she would have made as she reached her orgasm and tried to match, feeling a rush of adrenaline, pleasure coursing through my body in waves of ecstasy.

Wallace,

Ana is safe and sound. She’s surfing other coasts, other bays, I’m sure. As for her, there’s not much to add. She still has the same sun-bleached blonde hair, the same summer-filled eyes, the same infectious smile. She’ll always be like that, Wallace. She’s the kind of person who never loses her charm, no matter what.

As for whether she’s met someone else, I don’t know. But you know how she is. Her spirit doesn’t allow her to be alone for long.

Now that I’m in her house I’m starting to understand her a little more. We drifted apart for a few years after she moved to he city while I stayed in the town we grew up. We reconnected eventually, but she already had a life in New York—one I could never quite reach, no matter how hard I tried. I’ve never been one to fit in easily.

I tell you this because I accidentally found some pictures in her close—photos of us at graduation and others from a vacation we took to a lake near our hometown. She looked happy. There was a glow in her eyes, like a little piece of sunshine. I wish I could consume it.

—Elise.

“I think I'm going crazy,” I said to Michael one evening. We were sitting on the wet sand, the saltwater lapping at our legs.

“Why do you say that, honey?” He asked, his voice calm, his eyes reaching mine.

“Sometimes I think I see her,” I confessed. The breeze carried the taste of sea and the faint scent of charcoal from a neighbor’s barbecue. 

He didn’t say anything at first. I liked it when he did that. He would study my face as if seeing it for the first time, taking in every detail, every shift in my expression.

“Where?” he finally asked, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering.

"When I'm on the terrace, I think I see her swimming. I try not to blink, to keep watching her as she raises her arms and waves at me. I wave back, but my eyes burn, and then… She’s gone.”

He didn’t respond, and I was glad he didn’t. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. I felt the warmth of his sunlit skin, the scent of sweat and sea clinging to him. I closed my eyes, grateful to be lived by someone like him.

Dear Elise,

I’ve thought long and hard about your response and I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re right. I need to make peace with it. I know her spirit—I wouldn’t want to hold her back. She’s not the kind of person you can keep waiting.

Now I want to know: what kind of person are you? What were Ana and Elise like in high school? I used to ask her about her life before New York, but whenever I brought it up her eyes would change. There was a sadness in them that I can’t quite explain. She didn’t even tell me about you.

-Wallace.

Michael found the letter stuffed in the old dresser in Ana’s room. He’d be looking a tie he never wore.

“What is this?” His voice echoed off the walls, sharp and accusing. “Who is Wallace?”

I wanted to explain, but the words caught in my throat. He didn’t understand. I looked up and saw the stern expression on his face, and it made angry. What did it matter to him? This had nothing to do with him!

“I came here for you,” he said, pacing the room. “Because you kept asking and I thought it would help. And now you’re writing to some stranger obsessed with your dead friend? Do you know how hard it was to convince her parents to let us stay here?”

“Shut up!” I shouted. “You don't know she's dead!”

The wind howled against the thin glass of the window, and for a moment, I thought I heard her voice, soft and sweet, like honey dripping from a spoon.

Elise, Elise, Elise.

A wave of panic washed over me, quickening my heartbeat and weakening my legs. Michael watched me, his eyes narrowed before letting out a long sigh.

“Elise, she drowned. You need to make peace with that.”

“You don't know—“ I didn’t want to shout, but the wind was deafening. “You don’t know it happened like that.”

The news had said so. The papers had said so. But I was sure that one day she’d show up, he hair soaked, her smile radiant, with another story to tell. And I could finally apologize to her.

Michael’s fists clenched, his face reddening. “She was my friend too. How do you think I feel, standing here, surrounded by her pictures and the books she never finished? But you asked me to do this, Elise. Maybe bringing us here was a mistake.”

Hearing that ignited a rage in me, a boiling anger that made my head spin. How dare he claim he felt anything close to what I did? He hand’t loved her like I had. He hadn’t loved her at all. He wasn’t even there.

The house suddenly felt suffocating. I had to get out. The colors dulled, the seagulls screamed and I ran toward the shore.

In the distance I heard her voice calling after me, but I ran in the opposite direction.

Elise,

It’s been a month since I last heard from you. I hope my last letter didn’t upset you. I didn’t mean yo bring up Ana’s past or why she never spoke of her hometown. I’m sorry for that. I hope to hear from you soon.

-Wallace.

The dress was yellow with white flowers and it fit me perfectly. It still carried her scent—jasmine and sea salt, intoxicating and unforgettable. When Michael saw me in it, she smiled.

“It's good to see you looking better."

“It's good to feel better,” I said, wrapping my arms around him.

We went out to dinner that night, walking hand in hand under the warm sky. He held my hand tightly, as if afraid I might slip away. He kept touching me, even in the restaurant, murmuring about how he noticed a change in me, one he was starting to like. I smiled, feeling a mix of pride and irritation.

Ana, even in the absence, was still the one.

Wallace,

If you want to know so badly, I’ll tell you.

She beat me at everything but grades. She had golden hair—or was it brown? Was it black? It’s been so long and it’s not fair that I’ve become a vessel for her memory. Why don’t you look her up yourself? Or do you want to know about Caleb? Her cute boyfriend, Caleb. I liked him so much, and she took him from me, like she always did. But then again, love doesn’t take orders, does it? It would be nice to know… But I can’t recall what is and what is not…

—Aaana.

He asked me to wear the dress more often and I did, with a rebellious thrill. It hugged my waist, the fabric cool and thin against my skin. It felt good—there was a looseness in my body, a freedom I hadn’t known before. Michael noticed, telling me he was starting to see the woman I used to be, not the sad, hollow version I’d become.

Elise, Elise, Elise.

The seagulls began to squawk, their cries piercing the air, spitting my name. Relief turned to fear as the aire drew heavy, my heartbeat quickening.

Elise, Elise, Elise.

In the mirror I saw her—Ana—wearing the same dress. She was soaked, covered in dirt and wet sand, her eyes white and filled with disgust. I tasted salt in my mouth, dry and pasty. Her lips moved but it was my voice that spoke:

You are so pathetic. You had to kill me just to be chosen.

I denied it immediately, but the figure in the mirror didn’t move. I wanted to scream that hadn’t done anything, but my body was paralyzed. Ana flickered in and out, overlapping my reflection.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING,” I finally shouted.

I ran, sobbing, my hands pressed to my ears. The seagulls kept screaming.

 ELISE ANA ELISE ANA ELISE ANA ELISE ANA.

I didn’t feel the cold seawater at first, didn’t notice my feet getting wet. My body moved on its own, drawn to the sea. The waves calmed my nerves, slowing the voices. I was at peace.

The waves pulled me under, and before I sank into the depths I felt the breeze against my face. I was at peace. I belonged here. 

END