My Dear Vanessa, Do You Believe In Fate?

As an author, my imagination has become a pretty magical place. It's always been abundant with an infinite flow of ideas and stories. Except, what once was a seemingly endless stream of ideas is now faced with a dam so high up not even a drop of wonder could pass through. I've never felt writer's block this badly before. No matter how many hours I lay in front of my laptop screen, my fingers continue to lay behind the keyboard, not daring to move an inch. Nothing, absolutely nothing comes out. I've lost count of how many times I've typed, " How to cure writer's block" on the search bar. How is it that out of the supposed 1,270,000 results, nothing has worked? I've probably tried everything there is to try. You name it, chances are, I've done it twice. Deadlines feel so close that my hope to spit out anything publish worthy, is about as strong as my hope to do a backflip. Spoiler alert, I probably couldn't do one to save my life. 

Since nothing was working, I decided to take a breather. After being in hermit mode for months, I finally left my house. Not that I had much of a choice. My lovely, but slightly kooky aunt has recently moved into my childhood home. She asked me to sort the mountain of boxes in the attic with my name on it. Not wanting to get rid of any before I took a look at them.

As I pulled into the driveway, I had to do a double take and blink a few times before I could register what I was looking at. I knew my aunt had an odd taste, but I was amazed at how different a house could look despite having the same framework. She was not joking when she beamed over the phone about her plans to " Give the house life again".

"I'm feeling inspired, you see. I know fate has brought me here once again. It needs work, but we all know I have the magic touch. Tell me dear, do you believe in fate?" Sounding distant from the phone, I could tell she was doing something else while talking. While I was too busy thinking about how much I envied her inspiration.

Now even more so as I walked into the porch gazing over, a gnome maybe? Nope, not a gnome. I'd probably feel better off not knowing what it was anyway, so I continued observing. If this was her meaning of feeling inspired, a drop would suffice to get me through at least a 3rd of a novel. I thought about asking her if she'd be so kind as to lend me some of her magic, so I could at the very least get to typing something, anything. However before I could even raise my hand to ring the doorbell, the front door suddenly swung open. 

"You're finally here, come in, come in. I whipped up some of those lemon tarts you like so much" She motioned me inside as I followed her to the kitchen. I get hit with a wave of what I'm sure heaven must smell like. No one makes lemon tarts like her. And no one liked them as much as Vanessa. I'm sure she is eating her way through those heaven lemon tarts as we speak. 

I lost my best friend a year ago to a drunk driver. One day she was there cheering me on and gone the next, leaving me with nothing but the memory of her cheeky smile. My therapist says that my writer's block must be due to my losing her. It made sense considering I always deemed her a huge contributor to my success. If it wasn't for her, I would've never put myself out there. When I finally did make it and became a best-selling author, she disappeared. I never expected the victory I had desperately longed for to leave such a bitter aftertaste. It's been a year, but my chest still feels like squeezing my lungs up toward my throat when I think of her. There were so many things we didn't get to do together. I just wished we had more time. Or at the very least I could meet her once more, even if for a moment. 

Handing me a napkin, my aunt snaps me back to reality. I look at her slightly dazed when she gestures to my nose, covered in icing. I sheepishly wipe it off as I finish the last bit of my tart. 

"I'll be in the garage rearranging some things. If you need anything just give me a shout. Take your time, there are quite the memories up there for you to find. Who knows, might spark an idea or two in that genius book brain of yours." She winks at me as she leaves, leaving me alone to my thoughts again. 

My aunt has always been my number one fan, alongside Vanessa. They were both the kind to buy multiple of my books to gift them and brag to everyone about me. Growing up my parents were always busy working so she would always take care of me. She also never hesitated to support me in my dream to become an author. Not even when my parents went against it. Having her and Vannessa by my side, made me muster up the courage to stand up to them. To pursue that once-crazy dream into existence. I did indeed make it a reality. I even became a bestseller. 

As I stared at my reflection on the fridge, I rolled my eyes to it. "Right, so much of a best-selling author...one who can't even write...”

"What a picture" I muttered to myself as I shoved down my thoughts and got up to head to the attic. I passed through the dent I made on the wall when I decided roller skates were my thing when I was 10. I smiled remembering how mad my mom was that day. As I walk up the stairs, I get that familiar damp smell from the carpet. Nostalgic, but was glad my aunt had plans to get rid of it. I made my way to the attic taking in all the memories painted on every inch of the hallways and rooms. It felt quite nice being back, despite being an only kid, my imagination and I made the most out of it. 

About an hour passes by the time I am knees deep into memories, photos, toys, books, and clothes. As well as a lot of dust, and much to my dismay a few spiders. I'm certain they are plotting my destruction as I'm rummaging through everything. 

A velvet box suddenly caught my attention when I nearly tripped over it trying to get across the room. I picked it up and placed it on top of another box. It caught my attention because it was the same velvet red that Vanessa loved so much. It was her signature color. She always wore it and pulled it off flawlessly every time. Inside were mostly postcards and magazine cutouts. At the very bottom was a fluffy pink notebook with a lock on it. It's the type you'd see at the mall that was always incredibly overpriced. I looked for a key, then when I didn't find any I forced it open. 

I was smiling like an idiot trying to decipher what I wrote as I had terrible writing. I felt like I was decoding a secret message of some sort. From what I was understanding, I had some kind of imaginary friend. Growing up an only child with parents who were never around would do that to you.

Then I turned to a page with two girls drawn on it. As I took in the image before me, my smile slowly faded. My eyes widened like I'd seen a ghost. If I had a mirror I'm sure I'd see I was just as pale as one. It looked like what you'd expect a self-portrait made by a ten-year-old would look like. Done in colored pencil with careful detail despite being so young. It wasn't my portrait however that sent a wave of chills down my spine. It was the girl drawn next to me, holding my hand. As an adult, I should know better. No matter how much I tried to wrap my head around what I was seeing. I couldn't. It was her. It was Vanessa. I could argue the resemblance was there. If she was just a figment of my imagination then it would be impossible for it to be her. Vanessa had black curly hair and blue eyes just like the girl in the drawing. Sure, anyone could have those features. Even the big glasses over her eyes could be written off. I decided to ignore the fact that Vanessa was notorious for having terrible eyesight. It could all simply be an exciting coincidence. Except, there is one key detail that wasn't letting me laugh it all off like I would've liked to. The girl in the drawing had the same two moles parallel to each other under the left eye. The same way Vanessa did. 

I set the book down and steady myself over the boxes breathing deeply. I close my eyes and attempt to argue with my brain. Then I opened my eyes and let out the most breathless laugh I could muster.

"This is...too much, I need air," I say to myself as I slowly back away from the book. As I did a postcard caught my eye. A sea of green stared back at me. I didn't dare move as I was still too stunned at the detail in the drawing. I gathered myself, then pick it up taking a closer look. It was in a Bamboo forest in Kyoto, Japan. A bridge overlooking all the bamboo. I stared at it, trying to figure out why it looked so familiar. When it suddenly struck me like a bell at noon. 

"There is no way" I screeched as I furiously pulled out my phone to scroll through my camera roll. Right about now, I was heavily regretting not cleaning my gallery as I was scrolling through a never-ending amount of pictures. Feeling impatient I give up on my camera roll and go on my social media. I found the picture right away. Vanessa and I, on the same bridge overlooking the same bamboo forest on our trip to Japan a few years back. There are many bamboo forests in Japan, but we decided Kyoto was best. I look back at the postcard and compare the two. I stare at the two bewildered before I set the card down and pick up another. It was on the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. I’d been there only once because Vanessa had wanted to go. I remember it being underwhelming but Vanessa seemed fascinated. 

My brain feels at war trying to write it all off as a coincidence. However, picking up card after card, I'm out of ammunition to reason any longer. Despite there being several postcards of different travel locations and landmarks around the world. Vanessa and I had visited it every single one. I even had photo evidence of every single trip we'd taken together. 

Before my brain could continue to pull me in every direction I stumbled my way out the attic to the front porch. I treaded carefully fearing my legs would give out after everything I just saw. I make my way out the front door safely and sit in the evening sun on a concrete step next to the gnome-looking thing. I turned towards it as if I was going to speak to it. As if it could listen to the nonsense I was about to spew out. I turn away from it, dropping my head down to my knees, and let out a sigh stuck in my throat. 

Talking to the gnome wasn't going to give me answers. So I took a deep breath as I shut my eyes. I attempted to be rational, but quickly failed. Did my imaginary friend jump out of my imagination? I mean, no doubt I had described my imagination as magical before, but this was beyond me. Then what, she proceeded to grow up and meet up with me years later, to visit all the places I wanted to go to as a kid. There's no way. I mean, she had a whole family tree tracing back years. She was a real person of flesh and blood who I met in my second year of University. Then it dawned on me that in my panic I also saw my university's logo and mascot somewhere in the magazine cutouts I'd found in the velvet box earlier. I push the thought away as I continue spiraling. 

"Hey dear, you alright?" Startled I fall to the side looking up at my very concerned aunt. I turn to get up only to be faced with the weird gnome thing. Startled even more I stumble back a bit before finally getting up.

"Yea, I...I'm okay, just feeling a little spooked" Giving me her I'm not convinced look, she only stared back in response. I continued " I just saw a few spiders..not a fan" I turned away from her, I still didn't know what to think of everything so I decided to keep it to myself. 

"Right, did you find anything interesting up there? You quite literally just unpacked your childhood, I'm sure that was exciting!" She's beaming again as she always is. I did indeed unpack my childhood, but I still wasn't exactly sure of what truly I unpacked. 

"Uh, yea, I saw a few photo albums, I seemed like a handful " I wasn't lying. I had seen some photos where my face was either covered in chocolate or dirt. My aunt gestures for me to go inside back to the kitchen. Then begins pouring me some water. 

"You were a happy kid, always kept yourself busy, so I never complained." She says as she hands me a glass. " You always seemed busy in your own little world. I just always assumed you had a wild imagination to keep you company. As you grew older and became an author, I knew I had been right." 

"Yea... Aunty, do you remember what you asked me over the phone the other day, something about believing in fate?" I stare at her intently, maybe this could be just that. Fate seems more logical at the moment than Vanessa jumping out of my imagination. 

"Of course I do, you never answered me though. Do you?" 

" A week ago, I would've said no, but I'm not so sure anymore. I mean coincidences exist right?" As I say that my head pounds with Vanessa's voice, " I don't believe in coincidences" A phrase she lived by. 

"Well, I'm a firm believer that fate will always let you know of its existence, you just have to be open enough to let it reveal itself to you." She seems like she is going to continue, then doesn't and starts walking away. "I still have things to look through, you know where to find me." 

I finish my water and gather the courage to head back upstairs. I look over the book and as I open it something falls out of it. An envelope with "To Ness" in big pink letters written on it. It's sealed so I open it carefully. I unfold the letter, taking a deep breath. 

It's dated to the day of my 12th birthday. "Dear Ness, Today is my birthday and when I blew out the candles on my cake I made a wish. I know you are not real but I miss you. You are my best friend. So if you ever get this letter. Let us meet again one day when we grow up. I will wait for you. I promise." 

Flabbergasted at this point the tears that I had been holding back could no longer stand. My vision blurred as I set down the letter. This still did not explain anything. But it made me realize a lot of things. I had been upset about all the things we didn't get to do. But as I looked at all the photos, all the memories we shared. We got to do so much. Whether or not, this was fate or even had a name to be called. One thing was for sure. We were meant to meet again. If she was real the first time around didn't matter. What mattered was the time we shared when she was real.

That being the case, I knew there was only one thing I could do. Meet her once more. Bring her to life once again. The only way I knew how to. As an author, it was my job to bring things to life. 

I went to my car to take out the laptop I threw in just in case anything hit me. I was indeed hit, directly in the gut, depleting me of any air I had left. However, I found myself filled with new air, a fresh one filled with what my aunt called inspiration. So, feeling renewed I pull up a fresh page. Then begin typing "My dear Vanessa, do you believe in fate?"