"My dearest Briar"

The letter began.

“Forgive me for contacting you out of the blue after so long spent estranged, but I have been tasked with reaching out to you to offer my deepest condolences.

Our beloved Aggie passed on January 29th, drifting off peacefully in her sleep. The doctor assures us that she felt no pain, and it was simply ‘her time’. If such a thing can truly exist.

To you, she has left the small mountainside estate, as well as a savings account that will open to you on your 25th birthday, and a lump sum of cash in the range of $20,000 US dollars that is to be made immediately available to you.

While you have not been in the presence of each other for upwards of 20 years, she always spoke fondly of the small girl who would listen to her tales of youth for hours on end, and until her last moments, she lamented the distance that had grown between her and your mother. She hoped that this inheritance, though small, could begin to mend what was so broken between the branches of the family, though she was too late to give it directly to your mother.

We look forward to seeing you at the central estate at your earliest convenience to transfer the deed over, and we hope to rekindle some of the familial love that once laid in this hallowed home. We await your reply with bated breath, and will be much obliged to buy your ticket for a date which works for you.

Much love,

Benjamin”

Benjamin Benjamin Benjamin

I have never met a Benjamin.

I arrive at the airport on a brisk February afternoon, one checked designer bag and a small carry-on purse with only a few items within its possession.

I board with first-class and root around through my purse, pulling out a passport and a small black notebook. In it lies the story of Briar Hearst, details of a childhood spent with a grandmother that I cannot remember, descriptions of lush fabrics, gentle floral perfumes, details that were long lost to time.

I hunker down for what I know will be a long journey that will extend far past the end of my flight.

I fall asleep to glimmers of a life that should not be mine, a life where someone would write me a letter, beginning “My dearest”.

I land and am quickly whisked away to a family-owned town car, ordered specifically for me, a luxury I have never been privy to.

On the drive over, my mind swims with flashes of a life I had previously only dreamt of having.

The new money I received meaning I could fulfill all of my heart’s desires. Buying beautiful, high-quality clothing, eating in fancy restaurants, wandering through London, having my very own “Breakfast at Tiffany’s moment”. Better yet, I could bring a loved one with me. Share a life I was surprised to be receiving. A life of comfort, travel, peace. Money that meant I could finally breathe.

I am knocked out of my partial stupor when I reach my destination; a large manor, looming ahead of me.

I am entangled in a flurry of well wishes, a multitude of variations of “Wow, you’ve grown!”, “Last time I saw you you only came up to here!”, other casual platitudes from people I don’t know; people who don’t know me.

Would Aggie have behaved this way? Would Aggie have regaled me with tales of days past, days where I was a person I have no memories of being?

There is no way of knowing how Aggie would have acted.

A stranger to me, a passing ship who chose to cast their search-light on me during the last moment they had before they succumbed to the sea.

And it is clear that this is a family that does not know how to grieve, a family that has lost a very important piece of glue, that has found themselves adrift, and, yet, somehow I yearn for what they have. I yearn for a sense of loss I have grown numb to, a person to miss, a family to pull myself back to--isn’t that what this opportunity is?

Isn’t that what I have been invited to in golden gilded letters? In ink-soaked pages and thick, decadent wax seals?

Welcomed to the “humble” family home, ushered back with open arms and whispers of “rekindled love” in place of sparks that didn’t exist.

An offering I wouldn’t soon turn down, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a forwarded letter, a book with details pulled from a mind that was not my own, a passport with my photo and a name I had never known; all unexpected, charitable gifts.

Everything, everything, everything.

Everything I wanted, needed, did not deserve.

Oh Aggie,

If only I were actually Briar.