Truth is a Gray and Muddy Color

Dear Maribel,

I can still remember every detail of how you looked when we met.

Your bangs were slanted, as if you had cut them yourself in a fit of rage. Your clothes hung off of you, making you seem so much smaller than you actually were. And even though you were small and thin and barely came up to my knees, you were so strong. Even then. Your shoulders pulled back, your chest pushed out, your head raised in defiance against anyone who dared challenge you. I knew then that we had been made for each other. That you were my destiny. My fate. My reason for being.

You asked me for the truth, and I couldn’t give it to you. I didn’t know how. Or maybe I did, but I wasn’t ready. I’m ready now.

The truth. You have to understand that the truth isn’t black and white. There are complexities and nuances and even contradictions. And yet it’s the truth. But you won’t accept this, not at first. And I know this because I know you.

Do you remember your first kill? You were barely seven. But you had everything that I needed. That we needed. You were raw, unskilled, but your instincts. Your instincts were impeccable. Especially for one so young. I can still see you crawling silently in the darkness. Making your way through the woman’s window. Her name escapes me now. The wife of some bureaucrat. But it really doesn’t matter. You will say it does, but it doesn’t. She was a target. She was practice. Nothing more. But she was your first, and that alone makes her special. At least to me.

You were so difficult to train. Do you remember that? You thought you knew everything. You thought you were born with some magical gift. You were, of course, but you still needed guidance and God forbid anyone give that to you.

I remember the day I gave you your first machete. You looked at it and the moonlight made it shine. Made you shine. You looked at me and I could see the thought cross your face. You weren’t so good at hiding your feelings. I stepped toward you, remember? I put the blade to my throat and threatened you to do it. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because you loved me against your better judgement. I’ve often wondered if you’d do it now. Maybe, right? Probably.

I have trained so many children that they get lost in my memory. Their faces blur together. You’ll say that it’s wrong and I suppose it is. But right and wrong are blurred as well, aren’t they? You know that, don’t you? Maybe you don’t. Not yet. But I think one day you will. One day you’ll understand that sometimes sacrifices must be made for a greater good. And it doesn’t make it right. It simply is what it is.

I have never forgotten you. I have never forgotten your face. I have never forgotten anything about you.

You asked me once if all of the people we killed were bad. I said yes. It was the first time I lied to you.

I can remember when things started to change. I’m sure you do as well. It all started with that boy. They wanted him to disappear. And he was so protected. So secure. You were the only one who could possibly get to him. You were the only one good enough. But when you saw that he was just a boy, a boy younger than you, you panicked. You left him where he was, and I made you go back. I told you that it had to be done. You cried and cried. It must be done, I said. Why? You screamed repeatedly. And I didn’t answer. And the truth is, I didn’t answer because I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know. I just knew that it had to be done because they said so. And I had been told that anything they said, was true. And you looked at me as if you were seeing me for the first time.

And you did it.

You killed that boy.

The truth is that sometimes we do bad things for the right reasons.

The truth is that some of us will always do what we’re told even if we know it’s wrong.

The truth is that I am one of those people.

You are not.

I told you that I found you on the side of the road. That you were abandoned and I saved you.

The truth. The truth is that I stole you. You were sitting on a dingy porch chewing your nails. The door to your house was wide open and I could see the outline of a woman asleep on the couch. I peered in and saw her surrounded by liquor bottles and…and other items unsuitable for a child. You looked at me and bared your teeth. And yes. I knew that you were made to be mine.

The truth is complicated. I stole you. It’s true. And if I hadn’t, what would have become of you? A child to a mother like that? A mother who never even searched for you. Who probably never even realized you were gone.

The truth. The truth is that among all of the children I have stolen, you were always my favorite. And I think it’s because you reminded me the most of myself. Your stubbornness. Your strong desire to be good against the odds. All you ever wanted was to be good.

You asked me once where I came from, and I never answered. The truth is that I don’t know. I have always been here. I have always existed for them. Perhaps, I was stolen too.

They tell me that they think they’ve seen you crouching in the bushes, hiding in the thick branches of the trees. But that they’re never sure because you’re gone so quickly, as if you were never there. Just an apparition. A ghost. And maybe you are a ghost, Mari. You might as well be, right? And maybe I’m a ghost too. Maybe we’re both lost souls constantly searching for each other.

The truth. The truth is that I don’t know how many people I’ve killed. How many children I’ve stolen. How many heads were crushed in the name of justice. In the name of rebellion. In the name of.

The truth, in the end, is that you are nothing like me.

You are better than me.

You are everything I wish I could be.

The truth is that the only good thing I’ve ever done is set you free.

Love,

Z.

P.S. If you are watching from the shadows, stay in the shadows. Stay free. This world of greater good is not meant for you. It never was and the truth is that the worst thing I’ve ever done is try to make you mine.