Chapter Text
Far below the neverending parties, the constant construction, and the drone of speeders that overlap like an overwhelming white noise, Coruscant holds a secret. On a list, it’s possibly the most inconsequential secret of them all, something so small that nothing in the galaxy would change were it to be set free. There are many others just like it, scattered across the planets surface, always waiting for a chance to see the light of day, but this one made peace with the shadows a long long time ago.
This particular secret lives in a crowded neighborhood, down a busy street, up an eroding staircase, and through the door of a secondhand furniture store. In the back sits a couch, an old thing, the red fabric covered in a layer of dust so thick that it dares to mask the color completely. Under the dust– two decades worth– and the threadbare fabric, this secret lives, tucked into a hole ripped under one of the cushions.
This secret is a small book, brownish tan and made thick by not only its own pages, but the myriad of letters never to be read and discarded sticky notes that sit between them. The only thing keeping every word from spilling out of the journal is a rubber band, synched around the center of it as a final line of defense. This secret-- or rather, these secrets-- are a long lost ones, but not ones that have forgotten their collective name. On the bottom of the book there is still a mark, four letters in thin black lettering, curling along the edge like smoke.
It reads: Anya.
Alexsandr,
I’ve never really been someone who journals, but Ms. Frex (my literature teacher at school) was telling us about how her sister wrote her all these letters to her when she was growing up and she gave them to her when she turned 18. I thought I could do the same for you! Hopefully I keep up with it, it’s pretty possible that I forget, but if I do keep doing it, I bet it’ll be a really fun present for when you’re older. At least for me. You might end up thinking it’s embarrassing, or corny, but I think I’ll have a good time anyways.
You’re not even like an actual living thing yet, so maybe writing this is a little bit silly, but Mama said that you won’t stop kicking in the night, and she thinks that maybe you’ll be here early? I don’t really know how that works. Papa thinks you’ll be here late, his Mama said he kicked like that and he wasn’t born until a week past due! At least that’s what he says. He might be lying just to get a rise out of Mama, but I’m not really sure, he has a pretty good sabacc face. I personally hope you’re on time, if you are our birthdays will be exactly 100 days apart! I just think that would be cool, for you to be born 100 days after I turn 17, which is only next week! I’m excited, but I’m fairly certain that it’ll feel the same as being 16.
Speaking of Papa, he finally started putting the nursery together for you a few days ago! Mama was a little bit miffed, since it won’t be her office anymore, but once she can work again after you’re born we’ll probably get a bigger apartment so that we can have both. Papa got the crib from one of his coworkers at the factory whose kid just grew out of it. His coworker’s a besalisk, so I think it’s probably a little bit too big, but maybe that’s a good thing since we won’t have to buy a new one for a while. They have some toys in there too, I think a few were mine when I was little, but I don't know where Mama and Papa must have been storing them if that were the case. Other than that, theres not much else in there, but I’m sure it’ll come along.
Anyways, I think that’s most of what I have to say.
Can’t wait to meet you,
Your favorite (and only I think) sister, Anya :)
Alexsandr,
It’s my 17th birthday! I was right, it feels the same as being 16, but by the time you’re reading this, I’m sure you’ll have realized that already. Enough about me! You’re officially 100 days away! Mama had me feel her bump while you were kicking and I need you to know that it’s super freaky. Like super super freaky. Mama laughed at me when I got spooked by it, which I did not appreciate. I would tell you to cut it out, but I think that would be like wishing death upon you which I definitely don’t want. (When you read this 18 years from now, I need you to promise not to show that part to Mama, she’s so superstitious she’ll probably be upset that I even entertained the idea of accidentally wishing you ill will or something).
Papa’s going to pick up more hours at the factory soon since we’ll need some funds for when Mama is on leave from work, but before he does he’s planning on bringing some scrap durasteel home to weld for the nursery. He wants to make an A to put above the crib, but Mama made him promise that he’d paint it after he’s done. She doesn’t like how plain durasteel looks, I think. Papa likes the look, but he’s around it so often that I think he’s maybe biased. I don’t mind it too much, but it’s certainly not the prettiest thing in the world. Once you’re old enough (maybe three? When do kids start talking?) I’ll have to remember to ask your opinion on the matter.
The new semester starts back up at school soon, but I haven’t thought about it too much, I’m too excited that you’ll be here soon! I hope Mama will let my school friends meet you once you’re actually alive, that would be fun!
That’s all I have to say this time I think.
Can’t wait to meet you,
Coolest sister ever, Anya
Alexsandr,
I don’t think I’ll ever give you this letter, I think I’m just writing to you because that’s the only time I write in this notebook. Some higher ups from the factory came to our door today. Papa is dead.
I don’t know how. I stopped listening after the first part.
I don’t know what to do, Mama has been crying since they came. I cried too, but I don’t think it feels real yet. I think I’ll cry more later, once I’m done writing this.
For now, I think I’m going come up with a plan. Without Papa working, we don’t have very much money. Mama still works, so that’s okay, but the factory paid well. I could maybe work more hours at my job, but I don’t think that rec center Lifeguard money will be anything close to what Papa made. I think Mama will have to go back to work very early, which I don’t think she’ll like very much. She works over the holonet for now, but they want her back in person once her leave is up. I think once you come I’ll stay home as much as I can to look after you while she goes back to work. Once you’re old enough to go to preschool in the day I’ll find a better job, one like Mamas and everything will be okay. Yes, I think that’s a good idea. I’ll be busy taking care of you, but I’m sure I’ll be able to do school and watch you at the same time as long as Mama works the same hours she did as before.
I saw Papa this morning, I want to go out to the kitchen and see him there. Like this was all a bad dream. I don’t think it’s a bad dream, though, I can still hear Mama’s crying through the wall.
I want a hug. I think I will hug you once you’re here.
Thats all,
Anya.
Alexsandr,
I miss Papa.
Anya.
Alexsandr,
Mama is acting different. I suppose I should have expected it a little bit, her husband is dead afterall. I have probably been acting different too. The funeral was as nice as a funeral could be for the first part I think, but she was so angry the whole time. The second half wasn’t nice at all, she kept cursing at Papa for leaving her all alone with you. I didn’t think that was fair, he didn’t die on purpose. Besides, I don’t think she is all alone, she has me doesn’t she? I hope she knows that, deep down.
I will miss Papa very much. I already do. I considered writing out all the things I will miss about him, but I don’t think that will make me feel any better. I think if I did that I’d just end up crying again, and I already have a headache from all the crying earlier.
I don’t think I’ll show you this letter either, it’s maybe a little too upsetting for an 18th birthday present.
Sad, but still excited to meet you,
Anya
Alexsandr,
Today is your birthday! Mama was right, you came early! Almost 14 days early, so I guess our birthdays won’t be 100 days apart, but thats okay. They have you in the hospital for now, just to make sure you’re okay. I saw you before they took you to the premie care unit, you were very very small! I suppose I don’t know how big a regular baby is supposed to be, I don’t think I’ve ever met another newborn before, but you were so itty bitty! I also thought you were bald at first, but Mama just said that your hair was very very light. She said I was the same way when I was born. I didn’t see you for very long, just a few seconds, so maybe I was seeing things, but I think that you have Papas eyes.
The hospital we’re in seems pretty nice. I got some food earlier and the cafe is alllll the way on the top floor– I could even see the sunset through some of the buildings outside! The chairs are also pretty comfortable, which is nice since I think we’ll be staying the night.
They’re going to let us go see you again soon. I think I’ll write more on this letter when I do. I’m excited!
Update: I am looking at you now and you are so tiny!!!!! I know they put the little flimsi bracelets on to keep track of all the kids, but I think it’s a very cute fashion statement. Mama was right though, you are not bald, just very blonde! You also have a birthmark on your forehead that I think looks like a heart! Mama doesn’t agree, she said it looks like nothing, but I seriously think it looks like a heart. Maybe it’s a sign, maybe you’ll have a big heart, or a heart of gold, or one of those other sayings. I should have looked up all the birthmark meaning things before you showed up, then I could have just known right off the bat. I thought Mama would have known something, since she’s so superstitious, but she says she doesn’t know any. She seems pretty uninterested in my birthmark queries, but I’m sure she’s just tired.
That aside, your eyes are a little bit greyish, but I think they’re brown like mine! The nurse said it possible that they might end up hazel or even blue (?) in a few days, though. I asked Mama what color she thinks they are and she says she doesn’t have an opinion. I’m pretty sure they’re brown.
I think that’s all I have to say for now,
I love you already,
Happiest big sister in the world, Anya
Alexsandr,
Happy month birthday! Is that a thing? I don’t think so, but I’ve already written it, so I suppose it’s a thing now. I meant to write another one of these after we got you home, but it was all very stressful, so I’m writing it three weeks after the fact instead. I was right, your eyes did turn out brown, we’re matching! I still think you have papas eyes though, the shape I mean. That aside, you are, quite possibly, the loudest baby in the entire galaxy. When you aren't crying you are so cute and so sweet, but from what I can tell, you really really like crying. Especially at night when me and Mama are trying to sleep.
Mama thinks you’re a colicky baby? I don’t know if that means anything other than that you cry a lot, or if it’s like a condition. I don’t think it is? Mama says that you’re fine, though, just dramatic. Maybe that’s true, but I can’t help but worry sometimes, you know? I think you’re alright, though.
Mama went back to work, which is half good half bad. I feel so sad for her that she has to go during all of this, but her job won’t pay for any leave, and without Papa the wallet is not thriving. Without Papa many things are not thriving, actually.
You would have loved him, he was so kind. He liked to cook, mostly recipes that his parents showed him, and he loved to play music from the little speaker in the kitchen, and bother Mama until she agreed to take a break from work so that she could dance with him. They loved each other very much. If he were still here maybe he would know the secret to getting you to sleep through the night. He always knew how to make me feel better after a bad day at school, so maybe his tricks would work on you too. I was very lucky to have known him.
Speaking of Papa, Mama is still not taking everything well. I don’t think I am either, to be completely honest, some days just I wake up so tired, and I just go back to bed so that maybe I can dream up a world where he is still with us. I’ve missed a lot of classes recently because I keep doing that, which is becoming a little bit of a problem since I was supposed to graduate early in just two months! If I fail a few classes this semester because of my attendance, I don’t think it would be the end of the galaxy since I could take them after the break, but I’ve already sent applications to colleges. I would hate to have to wait before going, the whole thing is worrying me. That was a tangent, I doubt you’ll care much about my schooling debacle when you’re reading this.
Speaking of worrying, like I was saying earlier, I’m concerned for Mama, because she is still so so sad, and so so angry. She was not ever angry before Papa passed. She was oftentimes sad, yes, usually because she missed her home, or her parents, but she was never angry. She acts different than before. Don’t get me wrong, she isn’t angry all the time, I don’t want you to think that, it’s just little things here and there. Maybe frustrated is more of a better word. Sad and frustrated. Sastrated? Frad? Srustrated? I’m trying to combine the words, but I don’t think I’m doing a very good job at it.
I saw something on the Holonet the other day saying that sometimes new mums just need someone to talk to about everything (which makes sense, the whole parent thing seems very overwhelming), so I tried suggesting that she see a therapist, but just shook her head. I understand why she might not want to, one of my friends said that her parents put her in therapy and that it just made her feel crazy, so I can see how it’s probably intimidating. I think it’s a good concept though, but I guess I’ve never been so I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea when I suggested it to Mama, but like I said, I think that it’s probably off the table.
That aside, not matter what happens, I know that her sadness and anger is just a temporary thing, and I know that one day she and I will come out from this, not unscathed, but we’ll be alright. Maybe I’ll try to find any recipes that Papa wrote down, that way when you’re older, we can have the same food he used to make, and listen to the music he used to dance to, and we can remember him in a way that doesn’t feel so sad.
That’s all I have to update for now!
Love you so much,
Your super cool sister Anya
Alexsandr,
Mama is dead.
She left a note. I read it this morning after the paramedic droids took her away. Part of me feels like I should be angry, the same way she was angry at Papa’s funeral, but I can’t find it in me. There is only a kind of sadness that I can’t imagine will ever leave. I can’t even put most of it into words.
I love Mama, I love her so much. She was so sweet, and I know that she loved me, she always showed me so, and she wrote so too. She loved us both so much, and she is so so sorry. I forgive her, of course I do, but I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do without her. I’m so scared.
I am not angry at Mama, I could never be angry with her, but I am so angry at the galaxy. I don’t know if this is some sort of sick joke that the powers that be think is just fucking hilarious, if this is some sort of weird cosmic retribution for some wrongdoing that I must have committed, or if this is just the awful hand I was dealt. I don’t want to self pity, it’s not a pleasant feeling, but I think I deserve a few seconds of it. This is all so horrific.
You’ll never receive this letter, I doubt you’ll receive any of them– this was a stupid idea anyways, all these letters have done is document all the ways that everything has gone terribly terribly wrong– but I guess I’ll write this anyways.
You’re sleeping soundly next to me now, which is a rare occurrence on it’s own, and you’re so unaware of all the awful that’s happened here. I want to keep it that way for as long as I can. You are so small, and you only just started lifting your head on your own, and you just flail and babble because you’re an actual literal baby. You don’t deserve to feel even a portion of this kind of sadness. You still have a heart shaped birthmark on your little forehead, for stars sake. I’m not superstitious like Mama is, but I feel like it would be overly ironic if you had a life that wasn’t spent loving and being loved. I don’t know what that means for right now, but I want to do everything in my power– which, honestly doesn’t feel like much– to give you the opportunity to live a life like that. Where you can just… be.
You won’t ever see what I’ve written in this journal for you, and I don’t think I’ll write like this again. I have a feeling whatever comes next is going to have much higher priority than these stupid letters.
I love you to all the moons in the galaxy and back,
Your sister Anya