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I’ve heard people talk about the big city before, but I’ve noticed that it’s nothing compared to seeing it with your own eyes. There are more loud, fast cars — big, flashing lights — and disgusting sewer-smelling air that’ll be stuck in your clothes until the end of time than anyone could’ve ever told me. It’s overwhelming yet exciting at the same time. I just want to cover my ears and close my eyes but I’m too terrified to miss something, it’s impossible not to look. My point is — it’s dizzying. It’s been a few weeks since I moved to the city. My Aunt Florence told me it’d be a good change from the usual countryside and vast valleys I was used to. She said something stupid like, “Change is good,” or something along those lines. Almost everything that know-it-all old lady says goes in one ear and out the other. She uses too many big words, she should know by now that I’m an idiot instead of knowing what percent of Uranus’s atmosphere is made of methane. The only reason I would ever remember something as useless as that would be because that means Uranus smells like farts. When I told her that, she refused to talk to me for three days.

Before I left, Aunt Florence took a permanent marker and wrote on my hand. She wrote my new apartment’s address, directions to my new fancy-city-kids high school from the said apartment, and specific instructions to GET. A. JOB. At my age, I should probably have a job, but I think I’d be too lazy for one. I don’t need it anyway, Florence wrote the password to her bank account on my other arm.

After I arrived at my new apartment, I immediately went to explore. It’s a dinky place that definitely could use a clean-up. I’ll do it later. There is old rotting wood furniture tipped over on the floor, sheets of paper, and mail everywhere. I pick up a few envelopes. They’re mostly boring.

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Just taxes, taxes, pay your fucking taxes, then something catches my eye.

It’s a deep red envelope with flowers embroidered into the paper. It’s been sealed with something that’s a shiny gold — it can’t be real gold, it’s light as a feather — it looks like it’s been stamped by one of those old wax seals — aha! It must be wax then, not gold. I rip the letter open and cringe as I ruin the beautiful envelope.

Dearest Martha,

Have you been well, my love? I’ve been doing as best I can. Ever since I started working for Mr. Miller, he’s been working me to the bone. He must know of my connection to you. I hope he’s at least lightened your workload a bit. I’ve tried to sneak away to see you, but I’m always caught. You know me, I’ve never been one to be light on my feet.

I’m doing as you said, I’m keeping in contact with your friends. They really creep me out, love, I have no clue what to say to them. They keep weird medicines in bottles and smoke some sometimes, I don’t know whether or not this is some kind of ritual or whether I should ask for some, it always smells really good in the room afterward and good things start happening to me. I don't think they enjoy my company though…

What should I do now, my love?

Love,

M ♡

Next to the initial at the end, there’s a heart. Holy shit, it’s some kind of love letter. A loose paper falls from my hands, it’s a postcard with deep brown bronze-coloured lettering. It says Murrays Antiques. Is it a shop? If it is, it must’ve shut down a long time ago.

I put all the papers next to my backpack. I roll up my sleeves and prepare to start a day full of cleaning. I may be an idiot — but I’m not a slob.

I throw out the rotting furniture, sweep and mop the dusty floors, replace lightbulbs, and go on a bug-killing spree. I don’t stop until everything is spotless. I open my bag and bring out my clothes for the next day, my inflatable mattress, and its pump. I pump up the bed and make sure everything is ready for the moving van tomorrow.