You wonder about me.
I wonder about you.
Who are you and what are you doing?
Are you wide awake in bed at 3 am, listening to Oliver’s deep breaths and pondering your next work? I picture Pesto next to you giving you warmth as the rain falls in Whaletown.
Has your passion for Nao and her story continued? Or have you set her free, just like her hello kitty lunchbox floating in the sea. Perhaps you walked down to the post office, drenched by the storm, to send your letter out into the world hoping for the paper to find its way into Nao’s hands. Or was this an act of a final goodbye?
How does it feel to be you, Ruth. Simultaneously reading and writing Nao’s journey, creating her horrors yet feeling her deepest sadness. It can’t be easy, but you seem relentless and strong. Strong enough to read Nao’s diary from beginning to end without skipping pages or impatiently rushing to finish.
Wherever you may be, I know you are thinking. Asking yourself questions and never satisfied with the answers. What was it like to think about Nao and want so badly to help her, but physically couldn’t? If Nao were to appear at your doorstop (I picture you in the Kitchen, Oliver in the garden when you hear a tinkering knock on your door) what would you say? Would you warmly embrace or would that feel strange since you know Nao, but she does not know you.
I feel like I know you, at least a little bit, and if you are ever in St. Louis we can always grab some coffee or tea and feel each other’s presence across a table and not just through words.