Lost Letters

Mother and son made the most of their week-end, enjoying various activities and spending time together. Yet Nicky’s mind always seemed to drift back to the mysterious letters he had left hidden in the attic. 

On Monday, he had breakfast with his mother and once she left for work he started carefully organizing his easel and stack of blank canvases. His room was a bit of a mess, with brushes and paint tubes scattered randomly across the floor and various surfaces. He was used to the process of gathering his tools, it was a quiet, almost meditative routine allowing him to center himself before he’d let the paint flow onto the canvas. Except this time there wouldn’t be a painting.

It took him some time to get everything upstairs, but once it was done, he felt a sense of relief knowing he had finally a space dedicated to his activity and that his room was now much cleaner. 

Canvases were left against the wall, his easel stood in the middle of the space, right next to the table where brushes and paints were chaotically disseminated. He was trying to organize those, but his mind and eyes kept on drifting back to the mysterious box and its contents.

With a frustrated sigh, Nicky decided to give in to his curiosity once again. This time however, he chose to focus on the flowers rather than the texts. He knew very little, if not nothing about flowers, except for one thing: they often carried symbolic meaning. And considering how and where he had found them, he was absolutely certain they held some kind of significance. 

So, he did what any person his age would do, he pulled out his phone and began searching Google for pages that explained the meanings of flowers, complete with pictures, hoping to find something that could shed light on their importance. He needed more than just names, he needed a visual. He couldn’t even identify most of the flowers he had seen and without that knowledge, they would remain a mystery.

After a few minutes of searching, he finally found a page that seemed to give him exactly what he was looking for: a list of flowers with their meanings, accompanied by their pictures. But just as he was scrolling and about to dive into it, his internet connection cut out.

“Seriously?” was all he managed to say. This felt like betrayal, a complete act of treason. He wasn’t someone who spent a lot of time on his phone; in fact he sometimes had spent days without even checking it. But the one time he needed it, the device had the nerve to refuse to cooperate.

He turned his gaze outside the window, taking a deep breath to keep his calm. That was just his luck really… He could always go back to reading the letters he supposed but he really wanted to dive into the flowers and-... But of course! With newfound enthusiasm, he quickly snapped pictures of each one of them, making sure the pictures were clear and not blurry before slipping the phone back into his pocket. 

Rushing down the stairs, he nearly fell again, catching himself with a low groan. As he reached the entrance of the house, he quickly grabbed his keys, slammed the door shut behind him, barely stopping himself from running across the street.

The house just across the street was similar to the one he lived in, one of the main differences was the garden. There was only Azaleas in front of his house and the rest was… Well, it could be easily described as a jungle. His mother didn’t really care enough to make something about it and neither did he, it did make good reference material after all. 

It always had seemed strange to him that his mother took care of her beloved Azaleas that way but couldn’t be bothered to even take a look at the rest, but he had never questioned her about it. He knew they were her favorites and that’s all he needed to know.

Their neighbor’s house however had a beautiful garden, he often saw the old woman taking care of her many flowers. It was a burst of colors, vivid reds, sunny yellows, deep purples and soft pinks. The greenery surrounding the vibrant blooms created a peaceful haven, almost like the place itself came out from a fairy tale.

He was about to knock on the door when it swung open, revealing his neighbor. Lilia Calderu was his favorite; she was the one who had introduced him to the world of Art with a capital A. The woman was a literal  walking encyclopedia of knowledge, she had taught him about history, litterature, paintings, sculptures and countless other subjects. She also happened to be one of the very few persons in the city his mother appreciated and respected. It was no coincidence, after all Lilia had once taught in the university where his mother had studied when she was younger.

“Are you gonna stay here like an idiot or are you coming in? I’ve been waiting for you, you know.” Lilia had said with raised eyebrows then turning her back to him, clearly expecting him to follow.

“You’ve been waiting for me?” He asked, frowning as he closed the door behind him and followed her into the kitchen.

Lilia hummed thoughtfully, already reaching for her old kettle to prepare some tea. “I had a feeling you’d come looking for me today.”

She had always been a very intuitive woman, so it didn’t really surprise him. In fact, it only made him smile a little more.

“Well, I have something I could use your help for, it’s… For an art project.”

“An art project?” She turned to face him, her face one of clear doubt. Nicky wasn’t the best at lying, and Lilia was very good at spotting them. She immediately noticed the hesitation in his voice when he spoke.

“Yeees…? Yes. Yes!”

“Don’t lie to me boy, I wasn’t born yesterday. Speak.”

With a resigned sigh he leaned forward onto the kitchen table, looking down at his feet with a guilty look on his face.

“I’m sorry Lilia, it's just… Don’t tell this to my mother, okay? I found… Something. In our attic and I got curious about it. There’s some flowers and I wanted to know what they are and what they mean, but my internet died so I thought you could help me?”

She set the tea cups on the table in a soft hum. “I most certainly can help you, and I won’t tell Agatha, but you’ll have to explain to me why you don’t want her to know.”

“I don’t know… I just have a feeling that she’d be very mad at me if she found out.” He huffed, gazing back up.

Lilia seemed satisfied with his answer as she simply offered a smile and a nod. She served the tea to each of them with her slow and composed mannerism, as if each movement was carefully measured.

“So, where are those flowers you want to identify?”

“There, I’ve taken pictures!” Smiling and grabbing his phone, he opened the gallery to find the pictures he had previously taken to show her. “I know what this, and this is, but I only know the red rose means I love you and lavender smells good…”

Frowning, Lilia let out an exasperated groan before slapping Nicky’s hand away from his phone only to be grabbing a notebook and a pen. “Kids and their phones these days… You’re going too fast! Sit next to me I’ll explain.”

Immediately, he moved to sit next to her, excitement written all over his face. It was always a show in itself to see the older woman draw or paint. She was able to create the most beautiful shapes and complex figures in just a few precise strokes, a testament of her many years of practice and invaluable knowledge.

She grabbed her glasses, and as soon as they were on her nose, her eyes shifted from the paper to Nicky’s phone. In mere seconds only she had sketched a stunning rose. Right next to it she wrote her notes while explaining to the teenager with a bit more depth, her voice carrying the authority of someone who spent years teaching..

“You were correct on one point Nicky, red roses do mean “I love you”, but so do a lot of other flowers, roses however also represent true love and passion, it’s a classic symbol. In ancient Greek mythology it was said they were created when Chloris stumbled upon the body of a lifeless nymph as she walked into the woods. Saddened by its death, she transformed the creature’s body into the most beautiful flower imaginable and when Aphrodite saw her work, she was instantly smitten. It is said she named the flower “Rose” in honor of her son Eros, also known as Cupid, I suppose it would explain why so many people buy them for his holiday.”

She tapped the tip of her pencil on a brand new sketch. “Now, Lavender. This one can be representative of purity, devotion, serenity and calmness amongst other things. Its color, purple, as you should already know is symbolic of royalty and elegance. The name “Lavender” comes from the Latin lavare which means to wash, which makes sense when you know Romans used its oil in their baths. Egyptians already used it in their embalmings and Greeks used them for their medicinal properties, we actually still do today in some cases. I’m sure if you went to the local pharmacy you could find Lavender oil to ease your stress and help you relax. In the past century it also has been associated with both gay men and women following the events of the Lavender Scare, i’ll let you look that up.”

Two new sketches were displayed in her notebook as she continued to explain what she knew about each flower, first tapping her pencil on the left one. “This, is a Sweet Alyssum, from what I know it’s meant to say “worth beyond beauty” and to represent emotional balance and protection. That comes from the Greek alysson which means without rage or without madness, they believed it could calm angers and cure rabies.” With the tip of her pencil she tapped the right sketch. “And this, is a Diphylleia, also known as Skeleton Flower. Their petals become translucent when wet, a beautiful spectacle really. I’m not quite sure about their meaning, but if I had to take a guess I would imagine it’s something about showing your true self, beauty, transformation or resilience as this one beautiful flower needs to be cultivated in the shade.”

Slowly, as if to give herself a moment to breathe and to allow Nicky to scribble notes furiously on post-its he had found, she brought her tea cup to her lips, savoring a few small, appreciative sips. “Are you still following?”

“Yes! It’s just a lot to take in at once but I’m sure I’ll be able to make sense of it all, how do you even know all of that?” He frowned a bit, trying to keep track of what he was writing.

“Years of experience and curiosity, just tell me when you’re ready to continue.”

After writing for a few more seconds, Nicky ended up nodding, satisfied with what he had so far. “Okay, I think I’ve got everything we can continue.”

Nodding and turning to a new page, Lilia resumed her explanations. “Hyacinth. In Greek mythology Hyacinthus, a Spartan loved by Apollo, died at a discus throwing competition. Apollo, grief stricken, transformed his fallen lover into a flower so that his memory would live for eternity and thus were born the blooms. The flower itself is usually representative of power, pride and beauty. A purple Hyacinth however tends to symbolize grief and sorrow.”

Lilia swiped to the next picture to sketch it but stopped mid-motion as soon as she saw it. She grabbed the phone, bringing it closer, a visible frown drawing itself on her face, an expression that was unusual for her.

“Nicky.. Where did you find those flowers again?”

Frowning in response, Nicky focused on Lilia’s expression. It was as if she had been struck by a sudden recognition, like the picture conjured up a memory in her mind and she was now connecting dots that only she could see. 

“Hmm, in the attic, they were with some letters and-”

“Those letters, who signed them?” She didn’t give him the opportunity to finish the sentence before she turned to him, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. The smile she wore on her lips suggested she already knew the answer and was just asking rhetorically, just to confirm another one of her intuitions, certain she was right.

“Someone named Rio Vidal I think, why? Do you know them..?” Nicky’s eyebrows raised at the idea and hoped that Lilia could hold some of the answers he was looking for.

A satisfied smile grew on Lilia’s lips as she slowly nodded, clearly having the answer she was looking for. For a brief moment her gaze seemed to drift somewhere else, as if she was lost in the recollection of past events. “Ah yes, I’ve known her, in fact she was one of my best, if not the best student I’ve ever had. I knew that I had seen this bouquet before.”

“You’ve seen it before? Wait, she was one of your students?” Nicky straightened up, very obviously interested in the newfound subject.

“Hmhm.” The old woman took a slow, deliberate sip of her tea, visibly still caught up in her thoughts. “I think it would be safe to say she was my best student, everything she worked on was just… Gorgeous and perfectly thought out, from the idea, to the execution, passing by the composition and symbolism. She was pretty close to your mother from what I remember, they were-”

She cut herself off mid sentence, her eyes going wide as if she just saw the light, holding the holy grail. Her expression shifted to one of intense focus as she studied Nicky's face, an expression he couldn’t quite place growing on her face as she looked at him. It was like she was trying to solve a long forgotten puzzle she was just reminded of. Just as he was about to ask what was wrong, she cleared her throat, regaining her usual composure. 

“Anyway, that’s a story you should ask your mother about, it’s not mine to tell.”

Nicky groaned as an answer, he was fully aware that if Lilia didn’t want to speak, she wouldn’t, even if he was on the verge of death she wouldn’t spill the truth he longed for.

“I’ll think about it… What can you tell me about this bouquet and the other one?”

Humming softly, Lilia picked up her pencil again, resuming the delicate strokes on the paper to draw the flower arrangements. This time, she only gave him the flower's name, her focus unwavering. “This one is made with Maidenhair Fern, white Carnations and a few branches of Forget-Me-Not. Once again, impeccable taste. The other one is a mix of white Peonies, pink Carnations and red Chrysanthemums. I’ll let you google all of these and make your very own interpretation of it. Consider it your homework.”

With a swift motion, she closed the notebook and placed the pencil on top, sliding the book towards Nicky, an unspoken invitation for him to take it and keep it. 

“Oh I definitely will! Thank you Lilia, you’re a lifesaver!” He said, grinning widely as he grabbed the notebook, more than satisfied with his day and the revelations he had just uncovered.

“You know I’m always happy to help you, now, was there anything else you needed?”

A faint grimace appeared on his face, it felt wrong leaving just like that after Lilia had helped him so kindly. “Not really no.. Do YOU need anything?”

“Actually I do.” A malicious smile spread across Lilia’s face as she spoke, and in that moment, Nicky should have known; he was going to be here for a while.

It was nearly four o’clock when Nicky was finally free to leave. He had spent the remaining hours of the morning helping Lilia prepare lunch; pasta alla norma for noon, and some arancinis they would later split for dinner. They had shared an animated meal, conversation flowing easily between them. Afterward, she had him help tending to the garden before he was finally freed to run home.

He still had plenty of time before his mother would return, giving him the freedom to snoop a little through the letters. Immediately as he stepped inside, he put the food he had brought back in the fridge and put an alarm on his phone, set to five minutes before his mom would be home.

Once all of this was done, he headed upstairs, pushing Lilia’s notebook and his own notes in a corner to focus on the letters. He grabbed the envelope he had meant to read before being interrupted the previous day and resumed his investigation.

September 23, 2003

     Dear Stalker,

I appreciate your willingness to acknowledge our little incident and your swiftness in returning my shirt. That being said, I must address the rather questionable decision of spying on myself and to enter my locker in the manner you did. While I am certain malice was not intended, it is important to note that such behavior, though mayhaps excusable under the circumstance, is usually considered invasive and inappropriate.
As for your shirt, I still do have it. I cannot help but take notice that you didn’t come claim it in person, leaving me instead with this note of yours. This choice has led me to wonder if there is a more underlying reason for your choice to communicate through correspondence rather than direct interaction. Are you perhaps scared? Should you wish to clear any misunderstanding, I'd like to point out that my appointment, which you seem so greatly concerned about, went perfectly well and concluded with my satisfaction. I departed with the desired results, and therefore, am in no need of organizing your downfall.
That being said, I would like to extend an open invitation to meet in person. I shall be at the same coffee shop our first interaction occurred on Saturday, the 27th at 4:00 PM sharp. I will be waiting with your shirt, should you wish to collect it. The choice is yours, but please take note that I will be seated by the window, in case you choose to take me up on that offer.

Respectfully

          - A Stranger

The letter was cold, yet for anyone who paid close attention, concealed beneath the formal words and the respectful tone, there was an undeniable curiosity and humor subtly hidden. It brought a smile to Nicky’s face, the subtle humor lingering in his thoughts as he eagerly reached for the next envelope, his curiosity only growing as he held the green paper.

October 10, 2003

     Dear new friend,

Isn't it curious how you point out my strange and "inappropriate" behavior while conveniently ignoring the fact that you've made a little "investigation" of your own to track down my locker and leave me that delightful letter? Funny how we both seem to have a talent for secretive pursuits, don't you think?
Since your letter, a lot has unfolded, and I can't help but feel thankful to fate for pushing me onto your path. I believe some things are simply meant to happen, and I can't quite shake the feeling that meeting you is one of those things. You, with your careful words and your clever observations. I must admit, there's something about you that keeps pulling me in. Something that lingers in the air after our brief encounters, something I can't quite place. Maybe it's your sharp wit, or the way you mask your curiosity with that polished, composed exterior. You seem to hide so much beneath the surface, and I find myself wondering what's beneath those layers.There's a depth to you, a complexity that I find deeply intriguing. I do believe you're someone truly remarkable.
And that, my new friend, is why I'm writing to you again. I want to get to know the person behind the letters, behind the formalities. I'm not talking about the version of you that I've seen in the coffee shop a couple of times, I want to know what lies beneath, to see what else there is beyond the carefully composed words you've shared with me.
So, here's my offer; consider this my invitation to meet again, but not for the usual coffee shop chat. No, this time I want to offer you something a bit different. Something a bit more personal. Think of it as a little surprise I’ve left with this letter. I have a feeling you'll appreciate it, after all, it seems that you and I share a taste for the finer things, the unexpected moments that make life a bit more interesting.
As always, the choice is yours. But know that I'm looking forward to seeing you again, should you decide to accept this… Opportunity.

So, will you follow me into the dark?

          - Your favourite Stalker

A little surprise left with the letter? But there was only the letter inside the envelope, nothing more. Maybe the answer to this question was within the response to this letter. Nicky glanced quickly at his phone, checking the time. He had just enough time to read one more, and so he did.

October 30, 2003

     Dear Friend,

I wish to reiterate my sincere gratitude for the considerate gift you offered me. I have expressed my gratitude many times previously and yet it still seems insufficient. Our time together this evening was truly enjoyable, I have not had this much fun in quite some time, and I owe that to you. I will surely look back to those moments we shared with fondness and affection.
The paintings you graciously agreed to show me a few days ago have been on my mind. I must confess, I am truly impressed by your talent. Unquestionably, your mastery is remarkable. Your strokes convey such elegance that they appear natural and effortless, yet I am fully aware that this grace is the result of considerable dedication and hard work. Your art has an undeniable depth that makes it impossible to ignore, and it was truly an honor to witness the world you paint and bring to life.
It made me want to learn more about the person who created it all, the one whose genius is so beautifully captured in each brushstroke and so abundantly conveyed, yet who keeps so much to herself. You truly are captivating, and I must admit, I am eager to uncover those layers and discover what lies beneath. I would like very much to uncover more of the thoughts and experiences that shape not only your art but who you are.
Our discussion following the performance was equally delightful. I greatly enjoyed our debate, and the ease with which we were able to converse, it was a rare and thoroughly enjoyable experience. I look forward to more moments like that, where we can explore ideas and share perspective, and perhaps learn something new in the process.

Until then, I remain,

          - Someone truly remarkable

Nicky was about to put the envelope and its letter aside when he noticed there was something else. He reached for it, pulling out a ticket for the Gershwin Theatre, dated the same day as the letter. A small smile appeared on his face. So that’s where they had spent their evening, no wonder those two had been so happy.

He had initially assumed the purple letters were his mother’s, given that purple was her favourite color. But gradually as he read more of their content, he started doubting. His mom hated and never cared much for musicals, and she wasn’t big into art, she could barely make the difference between a filbert and a round brush. 

That’s when his phone alarm started ringing, pulling him out of his thoughts. With a sigh, he got up, heading downstairs to the kitchen to start reheating up the arancinis and set up the table before his mother would arrive. 

Waiting for the front door to open, he sat down at the table, his thoughts wandering somewhere else. He would have to google that Rio Vidal girl, surely there was something there that would help him. If she’d followed the path described in the letters and by LIlia, he would find some paintings, maybe some interviews and-

The door opened to a groaning Agatha, tossing her shoes into the hallway and dropping her bag beside them. She didn’t notice Nicky’s amused gaze until she stepped into the kitchen and looked up. Her eyes quickly immediately caught sight of the table, set and ready, food still warm on it. A soft smile spread across her face.

“Hey… How was your day?” She asked, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

“It was good,” He began, sitting down at the table with a smile, waiting for his mother to join him as he continued. “I’ve brought some of my stuff upstairs, then helped Lilia with her garden. We made some food and talked a bit before I came back home. You, though… You look like you had a long day.”

“Urgh, it always is when you’re stuck working with literal idiots,” Agatha grumbled. “Even Mrs. Hart could write better books than some of those wannabe authors. Would you believe an old man tried to convince me to publish a book about a robot that can detect flies that went on dead bodies? Who even let that guy this far?!” She threw her hands up, gesturing wildly as she complained. Then, sighing deeply, she joined Nicky at the table, resting her head in her hands for a moment.

Dinner passed in animated conversations, Agatha venting about her frustrating day at work and the bizarre “fly guy”, while Nicky shared about Lilia’s weird habits and how she somehow knew he was going to visit her that day, despite him not mentioning it beforehand.

As they reached dessert, Nicky shifted uncomfortably in his seat, curiosity getting the best of him. He asked and watched his mother freezing mid-motion, her eyes widening in shock, like she just had seen a fucking ghost.

“Mom… Who’s Rio Vidal?”