July 7, 2165
Dear Madeline.
Today it is my birthday.
We aren't accustomed to celebrating birthdays here.
Everyone's reserved and quiet, as if the introverts of the world assembled in one place.
It's lonely here and I miss you.
It's almost funny, I guess, when I think about how long it's been since I saw you.
I miss our days at The Chicken Coop.
I miss our little talks.
I hate to say it, but I miss Ma Miranda's cooking, too. If she was here, she would have gotten you and some of the other kids to wait by my bed and yell, 'Surprise!' as soon as I opened my eyes. It was amazing the first few years. It became a little more annoying the older I got, though.
I remember waking up to Ma Miranda's face year after year. I remember how each year I'd notice a couple more wrinkles and a couple more grey hairs. I remember her arthritis-plagued fingers holding her World-Famous birthday pie baked in my favourite flavour, just for me.
I remember how the pie just fit in her tiny hands. She held the freshly baked pastry in its tin and just plopped it on the bedside table that resembled all the others beside each bunk bed.
I remember the out-of-tune birthday songs she would sing, and I remember how she would just drag a couple of you to sing with her. She was such a lively woman, even at her age. Those songs were always the best. I remember just watching you and smiling at you year after year as you would try your hardest to remember those words. You always found it difficult to recall words that meant little to you. You would try your hardest not to burst out in laughter because you knew I was looking at you. It made me smile to watch you try. I knew you weren't a singing person, so I always appreciated it.
The pie cooled as your face turned red. Year after year, I shared that pie with you. It crumbled in our fingers, and it always got all over the place.
It was far from perfect, but I loved every bite, and Ma Miranda just loved watching us eat. For each person's birthday, there was a pie baked in their favourite flavour to share with their best friend.
It wasn't really our birthdays. Ma Miranda didn't really know when each of us was born so she figured she'd turn our Arrival Days into Birthdays. We were kids, we couldn't remember our lives before The Coop. Ma Miranda wanted to make us all feel special. I can't say she succeeded one hundred percent of the time, but she tried.
Year after year the pies came until Ma Miranda couldn't bring them anymore. I remember that my flavour was always apple. I loved apple. For a long time, I didn't know why until Ma Miranda got us all to individually visit that woman with the funny name.
She spoke to me and helped me remember my time before The Coop.
I remember her wearing clothes I hadn't seen before. She liked to wear white with shoes Ma Miranda called 'high heels.'
She got me to remember a farm. She got me to remember this boy that looked vaguely like me, but bigger. Madeline, I think he was my brother. I remember us playing and climbing lots of trees. I remembered so many games, so many fields, so many trees. But there was one in particular that was his favourite. I still can't remember why he loved that apple tree as much as he did. Regardless, he loved it and so I grew to love it as well.
That was the first time I cried from pain that wasn't physical. I didn't like feeling the way I did, Madeline. That's why I never told you about that day. Admittedly, keeping secrets from you is probably why our relationship began to decay the way it did. I'm sorry, Madeline, if you thought it was something you did.
I missed this boy. I still do, Madeline. That day I found an empty spot in my cloudy heart, a spot I didn't know was there to begin with. I missed this boy and what we had. I missed our time together even though I couldn't remember any of it.
I missed the tree we loved.
I missed the farm.
But I was helpless, Madeline.
Now that I think about it, I wonder if all the other kids experienced the same kind of memories.
Remember when Obi threw our ball on the roof? Remember how high it was? Remember how terrified of heights I was at the time? It was before I grew a passion for climbing. I was timid; shy. But I couldn't let Obi win. I just couldn't let that bullying bastard hurt us. I couldn't let him hurt you.
I climbed McCormick's tree near the house, and I got on the roof. Ma Miranda made my bottom burn that evening, but we won, Madeline! I was faced with a challenge and I fought back!
This time it's different. This time I can't climb up a tree. This time I can't face some fear. This time I can't fight the emptiness. This time I can't fight the loneliness. This time you can't help me fill the void of my past life.
If you were here you'd ask me why I'm telling you all of this now.
You always had a way of seeking answers that hurt.
It's simple, Madeline. Today is my birthday! And it seems I've grown smitten with nostalgia. I miss The Coop. I miss Ma Miranda. I miss my birthday apple pie. I miss you.
I know you'll probably never get to read this, but that's okay.
It is my birthday and I am alone.
At least Captain Arya remembered.
He's a good man. I wish you could meet him. But alas, that isn't possible right now.
I know you will never read this, but I am writing anyway.
Madeline, no matter where you are you must never forget:
We are strong.
