Dear Bird,
Your letter was such a wonderful surprise; really it was. I’m still thinking about how to answer the question in your postscript. I wasn’t expecting you to insist on honesty. Don’t you find that most people try to make each other say things that aren’t true? Maybe because it’s easier, and because it saves time, and . . . now it sounds like I’m trying to sell you dinner that comes in a can. (“So they got us eatin’ dog food now,” Uncle J says.)
I haven’t met very many people who seem to want me to say what I really think. So I’m out of practice. Wait for the next letter. I’ve got a question for you, though—what do you mean when you say that you “don’t always show up in mirrors”?
Best love from
Your sister,
Snow
Hi, Snow,
It’s great that you wrote back. Thanks for the birdcage! Please find enclosed an extra-special pen. Wait’ll you find out what it does; you’ll flip.
I’m writing this to you from detention; I’d better tell you right off that I’m not a delinquent or anything, but I’m frequently in detention. I’ve got this piece of paper underneath an essay about Flax Hill back in 1600, and every couple of minutes I turn the page of my notepad and write to you a little more. I don’t know how much more I can say about Flax Hill back in 1600. According to the textbooks, this town was just a big grassy field and some primitive peoples, but Miss Fairfax says finding out more about the plants and what they could be used for is a way of finding out more about the people. So I’m listing plants that grew here back then. Clammy ground-cherry, starved panic grass, jack-in-the-pulpit, scaldweed, nimblewill—don’t they sound like the ingredients of some terrifying potion? I don’t think those are the real names for those plants. I mean, the people who saw those kinds of plants every day wouldn’t have given them names like that. I’m guessing somewhere along the line it was decided that the Native American names weren’t important because they were too difficult to spell, and then, abracadabra, scaldweed and panic grass. The other day I met a girl who said a lot of things are gone from the world and seemed to feel kind of cheated, and I guess this is just another thing she’d get disgusted about.
About being honest: so far I haven’t noticed anybody picking out lies for other people to tell. Please give an example. Dad may have already told you that nothing ever happens around here.
When I say I don’t always show up in mirrors, that is exactly what I mean, i.e., it is a statement of fact.
Your detained sister,
Bird
Dear Snow,
It was nice of you to reply to me using the pen I sent you, but as you may have realized by now, the ink goes invisible after a few hours, and all I can say is it’s a good thing you used a different pen for the address or the letter wouldn’t have reached me at all. I tried to retrieve your words by tracing over the marks the pen made on the paper, but the result leaves me hopelessly confused, so be a pal and send it again—
Bird
Dearest Bird,
The incident of the disappearing letter is only one tenth of the mischief that gift of yours caused in my life, but thanks anyway. I wanted my kid sister back and I got her back with a vengeance. Sisters come with a lot of benefits—let me know if you’re ever in the mood for reading a really long poem and I’ll send you “Goblin Market.”
For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather;
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands.
I used to think that was stuff a mom should do for you—I guess I felt I needed someone in my life to do those things and decided it should be a mom. But a sister or a friend, or a combination of both, that works too. Let’s be those kinds of sisters if we can.
In my other letter I asked if you’re aware of what happens to girls who say that they don’t always appear in mirrors. Doctors get involved, Bird. Sometimes girls like that end up in clinics out in the middle of nowhere, being forced into ice baths and other terrible things I won’t write about here. I just want you to be really sure you mean what you said. Are you sure?
AML,
Snow
Dear Snow,
Was that supposed to scare me? I’m already in the middle of nowhere. And, yes, I’m sure. It obviously bothers you, so let’s just talk about something else.
Bird
Bird,
I was only asking like that because I don’t always show up in mirrors, either. For years I wondered whether it’s all right or not, but there’s been no one to ask, so I’ve decided that I feel all right about it. It’s a relief to be able to forget about what I might or might not be mistaken for. My reflection can’t be counted on, she’s not always there but I am, so maybe she’s not really me . . .
. . . Well, what is she then? I guess we’ll find out someday, but I’m not holding my breath. I think that maybe mirrors behave differently depending on how you treat them. Treating them like clocks (as almost everybody seems to) makes them behave like clocks, but treating them as doors—does any of this make sense to you? Yes, no?
My heart used to stop dead whenever I thought someone else had noticed. But I’ve found that other people usually overlook it, or if they notice, they think it’s something the matter with them, not me. Four times in my life so far someone’s started to ask me about it . . . “You know, for a second I thought . . .” and I’ve looked at them all mystified, as if they were talking gibberish. Then they start worrying about clinics and ice baths and soon after that they dry up. So, yes, when you say that it also happens to you, and you refuse to take it back—well. That unsettles me. Of course it does.
Either you’re lying or you’re the other thing—I don’t even want to write it down. But if you’re the other thing then I am too. And why would you lie? I’ve decided to believe you. Maybe it means we’re not supposed to be apart. Or . . . there’ll be some kind of mayhem next time we’re together.
Aunt Clara and Uncle John send you greetings. And I send you love
as always,
Snow