The bird sang outside her window, waking her with the dawn. Mara rolled over and pulled the sheets over her eyes. Another day, another mad scrabble to make sense of her life. Her existence had been overtaken by some rather peculiar dreams. Mara was determined to put a stop to it, one way or the other.
The sunlight convinced her to get up and moving on with her day. Mara made haste and was out her door in record time. She shoved sunglasses on her face and hopped on her vintage style bike. She was headed for an important meeting. This will help, she encouraged herself.
She sat down on a park bench with minutes to spare. A beat up old book laid her in lap, but this time she didnâ€™t try to suss any meaning out of the ink on the page. Her eyes were focused on the bright lit waves that danced on the beach.
Exactly on time, an older woman sat down next to Mara. Her face was creased and folded like a forgotten piece of tissue paper. The old woman may have looked her age, but her hands were strong and her fingers were straight. She nodded at Mara and clasped the younger womanâ€™s hands.
â€œI have the answer for you Mara, but whether or not it makes sense is up to you.â€ She spoke with hesitation. Her hands drew out a plain manila envelope from the inner pocket of her coat.
Mara trembled inside. Here was evidence, she thought. Evidence of whether or not her dreams were anything more than wishes shaped out of the ether of her mind. She pulled the envelope close to her. â€œThank you,â€ she said to the woman next to her. She smiled as she hastily stood up and walked to her bike. â€œThanks.â€
She rode home at a breakneck pace. Her bike clattered in her tiny garage as she raced into her kitchen. The sun followed her there and illuminated every step she took next. The envelope fell open in her eager hands. Pages of handwritten letters fell out. Shapes and handwriting so familiar to Mara her questions were answered before she even read them.
Mara held in her hands a bunch of letters and poems her mother had written her before she passed away, not more than a year ago. Messages to Mara about her wishes and her dreams and what she hoped would happen to her stuff after she died.
Tears rolled down Maraâ€™s face. This explains the dreams, she thought, my mother trying to tell me something, trying to let me know that something was missing. Mara held the letters close. She was convinced that her mother had mentioned these notes before and she had forgotten in the turbulent months after her death. But secretly, she hoped that her mother had contacted her, just one last time.