I know I scared you, and that’s one of the reasons why I kept silent about everything I felt. I didn’t want you to try to fix me. I struggled. I still do. Sometimes the days, the nights feel endless.
But I’ve also been happy. Unconditionally, intensely happy. And I don’t think anyone ever understood that. Not even you.
I’m tired, Cor. I don’t want to be stuck here. I miss you more than I thought was possible. We should have tried harder. We both should have tried harder.
I’m tired. I’m so tired.
I hope this feeling will pass, I hope this day will pass and the night will come.
I want to see you. I still want to travel. I still want to see the world and hear its stories. I need to leave Lost.
I hope this pain will pass.
But if I’m honest, I don’t think it will. Not this time.
I know I promised I would wait for you. Please believe me when I tell you I tried. I tried for so long.
I have nothing left here. I need to find my own path.
No matter where you are, a piece of my heart is yours. No matter where I am, part of me will always be waiting for you.
I turn the page, but I’ve reached the end of Kyra’s writing. I hold the envelope upside down. A smaller piece of paper slips out and drifts onto the balcony. It’s a black-and-white sketch of the aurora borealis, stars falling to earth. And Kyra and I, standing together, hand in hand, looking up at the sky.
Belonging
Five Months Before
I put my pen on the paper and stared at the blank sheet.
Dear Kyra.
What can I tell you? I’m happier here at St. James. I didn’t think I would be, but I am.
Lost Creek was a bubble, an almost all-white, conservative town with little room for wayward girls. Compared to Lost, St. James was a revelation. There were more students here than there were people in Lost, and far more perspectives on the world. To me, St. James was a constellation. To Kyra, it would’ve been a whole mythology of stories.
But how could I tell her that while she was stuck in Lost? How could I tell her that Eileen wanted to write books? That Noa read superhero stories? That there was an entire library with shelf after shelf of histories and myths and legends? I couldn’t tell her that she belonged here—and taunt her with my happiness.
“Cor?” Noa’s voice echoed through the hallway. “Practice starts in ten. You ready?”
“Coming!” I pushed the piece of paper under my books and dumped my pen in the drawer. How can I tell her that this is where we’re both meant to be, when only I can be here?
I told myself I’d go back to the letter later. I never did.
Brushstrokes
There is little left for me to do in Lost but to count the hours until morning, when a plane will take me to Fairbanks. Not everything is as it seems here, the pilot told me when he dropped me off. He was right. Nothing was as it seemed here—nor as I remembered.
I read Kyra’s last letter until I know it by heart. I leaf through her notebook again. So much is missing. There’s a jagged seam down the spine where Kyra ripped out the first letters she sent to me. But there are more torn-out pages than letters I received. What did she write on those pages? Were they letters she intended to send? Or notes she made for herself? Sketches she shared with her visitors? I’ll never know, and that makes me feel empty. How many notebooks could we have filled for each other if we’d tried?
I fold her last drawing and keep it safe in my pocket.
Lost doesn’t want Kyra’s words to venture beyond its borders. After all, it’s easier to believe in legends than in truth, and her story was carefully cultivated. I will take with me what I can. I will protect her stories.
But I wish I could do more. My hands tremble with anger.
I would burn down this spa, like Lost burned down my house and Kyra’s cabin. I would erase what Lost turned Kyra into and remind them all that Kyra’s art was never as important as she was. But there is already so little left to hold Kyra’s memory. If I torched this place, what would be left to bear witness to her? All I’d do is cause more destruction.
And Kyra would hate me for it. Not only because the spa shaped Lost Creek, but because it holds so many stories. This building holds a history richer than the life of one person, even if that person was my best friend. I can’t touch that. I won’t touch that. But oh, how I wish I could.
Instead, I find some of her paint brushes in her room. I cannot create like she did. I cannot tell stories. But I can retell her stories.
So for the next few hours, I stand on a chair, and I use the darkest green paint to write on the walls in the entrance hall. My brushstrokes begin shakily, the letters not always clear. But Kyra’s voice is clear in my mind, and that’s all that matters.
Let me tell you a story.
There once was a girl who lived among candles and flowers and offerings. She did not belong in the world around her, but she belonged to the world. And when she tried to carve out her own space, the people came to her, for she knew their stories and their secrets.
There once was a girl who was lonely. Because the people who sought her out would inevitably leave with everything she had to give them: her hope and love and promises.
There once was a girl who was abandoned. These people gave her worth, but they used her, drained her dry, until she had nothing left to give. And then they deserted her.
And the girl, who needed something to believe in too, was left with nothing.
Let Me Tell You a Story
Seven Months Before
Once upon a time, two girls sat on the roof, watching the stars appear in the dim night sky. They each held bottles of lemonade, bars of chocolate, and unspoken questions.
I was counting down the days until our big move to Winnipeg, and we’d crossed into single digits. I didn’t want to go. Kyra and I had so many plans, and the closer it came to my leaving, the more it felt as if I would be abandoning her, even if we stayed in touch. I was terrified our friendship would change. That we wouldn’t remember everything we’d been to each other. That the time we’d spent together hadn’t been enough.
“Do you ever wonder about that day in the garden?” I asked softly. It had been a long time since that awkward kiss, a long time since I’d tried to fall in love with Kyra, and a long time since she had fallen out of love with me. But I needed to know if she accepted me. “Would it be easier if I were attracted to you?”
Kyra took a sip of her lemonade and stared at the sky. It wasn’t quite summer yet, but the nights had been growing increasingly short and light. We wouldn’t see bright stars for months.
“Easier? Maybe. Better? No. You are who you are, Cor, and I am who I am. I wouldn’t want either of us to change to be someone we’re not. We’d hate each other for it in the end.”
“I know.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because…” I swallowed hard. I believed what I’d told her. That what mattered between us was our friendship. I’d seen other people’s crushes fizzle out, but our friendship had held strong. But soon there’d be nearly three thousand miles between us, and I didn’t know if friendship could survive that. “I’ll miss you.”
“I know. I’ll miss you too, but we’ll keep in touch. I’ll write. I promise.”
“When I come back during winter break, what will we do?”
Kyra leaned back and rested her head against my shoulder. We fit together, as if we were two pieces of the same puzzle. “We’ll stay up all night and talk until the sun rises. We’ll hike in the woods and tell each other scary stories. We’ll go ice skating on White Wolf Lake. We’ll have seven months to catch up on, and we’ll do everything.”
“Together?”
“Together.”
Stolen Time
I sit at the edge of the hot springs. The steam from the water forms clouds around me, and while it doesn’t exactly keep me warm, it helps me not notice the cold. Or anything else, for that matter.