Give me a short story about a lonely, middle-aged woman in Harlem, struggling day-to-day to survive.
It’s been almost three years since I’ve seen my son. He never calls; it’s almost as if he doesn’t exist anymore. I wake up most mornings dreading sleeping, since it reminds me of my late husband. God, do I hate crime. It’s taken everything I love away from me. In case this letter doesn’t reach you, know that I still think about you from time to time.
The weather is getting cold again. Our falls and winters are almost indistinguishable, except for that air of persistence around the holidays. Last Christmas I went to visit Joe and Sarah, but they had other company over, and I couldn’t find time to talk to them. Nowadays I don’t even bother to keep in touch with anyone.
I still find some comfort in visiting the palace. The faces there have changed, but the atmosphere is just as inviting as I remember it. I love the trees so much. While I’m not as limber as I once was, walking those paths makes me feel at home. I sometimes worry whether I’ll ever find a permanent place to hide myself away.
How are the kids doing? Nicole must be getting big! I remember her third birthday like it was yesterday. I’m sorry I can’t be more involved in her life, but distance hinders. Give my condolences to Amy. Breaking up is a tough thing, but I’m sure she’ll find another one in no time. Try to go easy on Benjamin, Molls. College isn’t like we recall it; things have changed for the better.
“As long as we are living we must try.” That was my fortune a few weeks ago. It made me hopeful. I hope it will help you too.