Dear Kate,

     Since we won’t see or talk to each other face to face for two weeks, I thought we might “talk” via “snail mail”.       Since I know your phone number but not your e-mail address and I didn’t want to call you, I thought it might be fun to contact you a more traditional way.  Besides, it’s more fun to wait for a letter than a phone call.

        Anyway, have a nice vacation. R.A.S.A.P. (Reply As Soon As Possible!)

                            Signing off,

                            Diana

P.s. Not trying to act all buddy- buddy, just felt like writing.

          I know you have a bunch of questions. Who’s Kate? Why am I writing a letter to her? Well, I’ll explain all of that later, promise. Let’s get back to our story now, shall we?

          I wrote Kate’s address in the top-left corner of a plain white envelope along with my address in the center and slipped it in to the postage machine. I punched in the weight and amount of postage I want. I pulled it out and saw the postage stamped on it.

Cool, I thought. I set down my letter next to me and turned around…

          Now, that back story I promised. Well, I’m Diana Duchan. I’m ten years old and am Jewish. I go to a yeshiva and live in Brooklyn, New York. My friend is Kate Lester. She also is ten and lives in Brooklyn.

          Now about that letter. We won’t see each other for two weeks because we have a vacation for Succoth, also known as Tabernacles.  So I decided to try to get in touch with her the more traditional way, via “snail mail”, as I said in the letter.

Now a little more back story before I go back to the REAL story. I live in a neighborhood called Marine Park. I have a dad who’s a psychologist at a public school out on Long Island, a mom who works as a nursery teacher in our school, and a sister named Melissa who we call Mimi or Mimono, who’s 12 and is in eighth grade. Now back to our story, everybody.

          The next morning, I mailed my letter. I didn’t really expect a reply until at least Monday because tonight (Wednesday) through Saturday are sacred days and we’re not able to write or do any work.  Despite that I knew Kate and I couldn’t write to each other, I still checked the mail daily to check if my letter was returned because I wrote the wrong address or some other mistake. I’m a bit neurotic that way. Actually, in every single way. Truth is, I’m really neurotic about everything. I always check to make sure I did all my homework right and that I did things such as dialing a friend’s phone number right or wrote the right address on a letter or e-mail.

          The next few days were basically the same thing as the day before. I read books, comic books, checked the newspaper for the MLB standings and the score from last night’s Mets game. I went for walks. I did that for a few days and I actually liked it. Except Thursday. That day I mainly hid out with my sister, sometimes alone because my parents were fighting and my father was very cranky.

   Now allow me to explain my interests. I love books. I especially love Archie Comics comic books and have three boxes full. I also like baseball. I’m a New York Mets fan. They totally suck, but I don’t care. I like them anyway for some strange, twisted reason I don’t  remember. I also like my computer.

 On Saturday night, I logged on to my computer and played some games online. I had a nice holiday so far, I suppose.

Ezra laughed nervously.

“Dead? Braindead, more like”

“No…really. He was shot a year and a half ago. At the institute that’s just off the coast, remember?” I said. Ezra was silent for a few moments. I could practically hear the gears in his head whirring and ticking in time.

“Oh, yes. That institute. Damn, you’re so lucky, I never got to go there and I WANTED to. Anyway….why did nobody tell me that he died?” He sounded sad, he really did. His voice had grown thick. I hadn’t heard Ezra cry very often but I knew when he was going to.

“You were doing so well at the college. We couldn’t put you off….and we were there because we were rescuing Zak. He was found as part of a mutated race…”

I spun the whole story out to him like a web, from the day he left to the day that Zak met Arizona. Ezra breathed in sharply when I told him about the bruises and how sad Zak was nowadays.

“Something’s definitely going down,” he said, coughing lightly “Keep an eye on that Arizona. By the sound of it, she’s up to no good. I’ll speak to you later Dee, I’ve got to go…and, sorry about Twin 2. I feel kind of guilty for making his life a living hell”

I smiled, even though I knew Ezra couldn’t see me.

“I’m sure he forgives you. Roux couldn’t hold a grudge for more than ten minutes”

We both laughed a little, said goodbye, and hung up.

Looking at the clock on the wall told me it was almost dinner time, and Mum would be home in ten minutes. I sighed, walked into the kitchen and put dinner on.

“What’s that burning smell?” Mum asked, walking in, dumping shopping bags on the floor. She looked tired, but that smile was still there.

“The dinner! Oh no!” I rushed into the kitchen, flung open the oven door and glared coldly at the burnt mess that was supposed to dinner, sunken to the bottom of the pan.

“Did you read the instructions?” Mum asked, pulling it out, eyeing it, then dumping it in the bin.

“No. My glasses broke so I couldn’t see what the heck it said. Sorry Mum…I was going to surprise you with a nice dinner, like Roux used to. But like I said, like everyone said….I can’t do anything right”

It was true enough. My grandma would smile and simper at me and treat me the way she treated Roux, but once I overheard her saying “That girl gets on my nerves. Always runs around, making a noise. She’s useless, she won’t amount to anything”

That hurt. A lot. Since then, I never spoke to Grandma. I went to her funeral and everyone spoke of how much she loved me and Roux. None of them noticed as I glared, mentally screaming “Lies. Lies! All lies! Are you stupid? Is that it?!”

“You’re not useless, darling…you’re just a bit….,” Mum puffed out a breath “Hard-headed, like your older brother. You should try and be like Roux a little more, hmm?”

I knocked her hand away and backed into the kitchen door.

“You’re all the same! The teachers, nana, you, your friends, aunts, uncles. I was the unwanted child! You even loved Ezra more than me. I want to know what I ever did to deserve this” I screamed at her. I flung open the door, ran down the end of the garden and struggled with the gate bolt until it opened.

“She is running, a hundred miles an hour, in the wrong direction

But the canyon’s ever widening, in the depths of her cold heart…”

Running down the road, I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was getting tired, but I wanted to get away from here. I wanted to go to a place where people would love me.

I’d always known the truth as a kid. Ezra told me once. He came into room late at night when Mum and Dad were fighting and said it was my entire fault.

“They love Roux more than they’ll ever love you. But I’ll always love you. You know that, Detroit? You’re my little princess, and nobody can hurt you. Not even Roux will ever hurt you” he told me sternly, sitting next to me in my bed.

Ezra was brutally honest as a child. He took the “Honesty is the best policy” thing too far. With his fiery red hair and cheeky grin, he somehow managed to get away with anything.

I was convinced it was my fault. When I was 6, Dad yelled “I hate that little brat! She’s so noisy and too hard-headed! I hate her, and wish she’d never been born….” then, he stormed out of the door, and we never saw him again.

Roux and Ezra were knelt beside Mum as she cried, comforting her. When I got near her, she screamed at me to go away. Taking no notice, I tried to comfort her, but she slapped my face hard, making me stagger across the carpet, gripping the table for support.

Roux burst into tears. Ezra didn’t. Just chewed his knuckles, staring into space. Mum comforted them both.

“You see what you’ve done?! It’s all your fault this family is unhappy!”

The abuse stopped…all thanks to Roux. A few weeks later I was making a bit too much upstairs and Mum came storming up the stairs and yelled at me to shut up. She went to hit me, but Roux was there in a flash, stood in front of me, arms spread out in a protective shield.

“No! No, Mummy! Don’t hit her! I won’t let you hit her!” he screamed at such a pitch I began to wonder if it was even possible.

YES! A little look in Detroit’s childhood.

The song is Does Anybody Hear Her by Casting Crowns.