Carino,

Today I've been helping my gran with old books. My mother is planning on renovating the house, hence the major clean-up. The majority of the items ended up in the trash. My gran couldn't bring herself to toss them out; that was on me. We came across newspaper pieces about my grandfather while organizing the books.

Did I mention he was an architect? I probably did.

He was. Kind of famous at that. At least back in the 80s.

My grandmother saved every newspaper article she could get her hands on.

And she's been widowed twice as long as she had been married to him.

She kept all of those little mementoes of him, and she still has tears in her eyes when looking at them.

Is it just attachment or love?

Mementoes are not my thing. I get myself those massive trash bags twice a year and throw away stuff. In my opinion, if I didn't miss any of the things I stuffed deep inside of my drawers, I wouldn't need them in the future. Out of sight, out of mind and from here, there's a straight road to a landfill.

I used to be more sentimental, just like my grandmother. I have no idea what switched in my mind ― well, maybe I have a hunch what had caused it ― but that's not who I am anymore.

I got rid of all of my stuff from that time when I got back home. Better so, the great purging had begun long before I boarded that plane.

I wasn't even allowed to say goodbye, let alone pack my belongings. The only thing I had managed to do was to call Andy. He was using the time he had left, before you returned, to leisure with his wife by a lake.

I guess he wasn't expecting me to call him out of a sudden.

"Did my brother ask you to tell me he's forced to extend his holidays? Again." He said in lieu of a greeting.

"No. I haven't talked with him for the past few days. He's hard to reach."

"Probably too drunk to answer."

By that time, I knew it was futile to fight to stay. I just felt empty and had one last thing to take care of.

"Maybe. That's not why I'm calling. Your mother's not picking up. Could you please make sure she knows Duke would be staying with her a couple of days longer?"

"It seems like he's really having a good time. And he's supposed to be the older one." Andy sneered. "Where are you two going anyway?"

"We're not going anywhere. I am."

"Wait! What? Where?" Andy's condescending attitude had vanished as with the snap of the fingers. My heart sank when I heard the sudden tension in his voice.

"Home."

"Home-home? You can't possibly be serious!" I could practically see him sitting up, his back strained, while Jenny gave him a concerned frown. He looks at her and shakes his head; I'll explain later.

"Can you please make sure Duke is okay? And say goodbye to your mum for me."

"Jesus Christ, B! What the hell has happened? Can't you just go to her yourself and tell her that?" He inquired, most likely believing it was because of some dumb and heated argument you and I had. He was confident that your mother would mediate the situation. After all, obtaining a ticket overnight was not a cheap kind of entertainment.

God, how I wished it was a matter of a simple quarrel.

"Please, Andy."

But he refused to budge, and I was out of time. As a result, I told him everything. He said he'd be there as soon as possible.

It's no secret that he didn't make it.

But I don't hold that against him.

Everything happened so quickly. By the time he made it back into town, I was already on the plane.

Even though I was numbly awaiting the announcement of my flight, a glimmer of optimism lingered in the back of my mind.

First, I deleted our photos from my phone. It was then the turn to get rid of my clothes.

I burned that violet sundress, and I didn't feel a thing.

My memories vanished on their own.

The only item I have left is the sweatshirt you lent me on one of our ski trips. It's practically pink because it's so tattered and faded.

It's no surprise you couldn't bring yourself to throw away all your worn-out clothes. With time, the cloth begins to fit like a glove, and it becomes your most valued friend to whom you can turn when you feel out of place. Even with all of those memories tangled up in its threads, it's reassuring.

What did you do with all my belongings? Hopefully, you didn't keep that garbage, and it was put to good use somewhere. According to how I remember you, it's most likely the latter.

Yours truly, B

➖

small announcement:
i anticipate 25 chapters
exactly 25
there'll be two more parts of this story
this one would be the only one written in the letter/epistolary form