One-shot about Melchi and Wendla's daughter and why I hate Wendla's mother. I named her Rachel after Lea Michele's Glee character. Thanks and enjoy.

"If it were possible to talk to the unborn, one could never explain to them how it feels to be alive, for life is washed in the speechless real." – Jacques Barzun

I remember love.

Love…

I remember love.

My mother's love –

My father's.

Their love for each other

And

Their love for me.

My name would have been Rachel.

I would have looked just like my father,

But with my mother's eyes.

I would have been smart.

I would have been kind.

I would have been…

I could have been…

Anything.

Anything I wanted to be.

But now…

I'll never

Be

Anything.

My mother says

My grandma is not evil.

She says she just

Has no way to handle things

But I know

It makes Mama sad.

"Don't cry Mama," I tell her. "We're together now."

But we're not

All together.

I never got to meet Papa.

Mama tells me about him

And we look after him together.

Mama says

He used to be happy.

He used to be kind and smart…

And happy.

But now…

Without Mama…

Without us…

He'll never be happy.

I wish we could all be together.

Really together, I mean.

We could have

Been a family.

Mama didn't know what was happening

When that dark man killed us that day.

I didn't know either.

I wish someone would have told us.

Then we could all be together.

Really together.

As

A

Family.

It hurts Mama to talk about it.

To talk about her life,

To talk about my father's life.

I asked Uncle Moritz once…

But he wouldn't tell me everything.

Once I contacted a girl

While she was dreaming.

I didn't mean to –

But I'm glad I did.

She was nice to me.

She told me that she loved me,

Yet I wasn't even sure who she was.

She said her name was Ilse,

And she asked me

What my name was.

"My name would have been Rachel," I told her.

"You don't look older then six, Rachel," she said.

"Where is your mama?"

"She's up in Heaven," I answered. "With Uncle Moritz."

And right away

The girl looked…

Terrified…and yet…

Happy…at the same time.

She asked me if Moritz was peaceful,

And if Mama was okay.

She asked me about them.

And I answered the best I could.

I told her we were happy,

And remember her we would.

I told her Moritz was peaceful,

And that Mama was okay.

I asked her about Papa,

And she said she couldn't say.

She said my papa wasn't happy,

Not as he could usually be.

Papa wasn't happy

Without Mama and me.

Today would have been my sixth birthday,

If I were alive.

I'm excited because it'd be my birthday

If I ever had one.

Mama cries and cries

And tells me she's sorry.

She tells me that she loves me

And that she wishes

That I could have had

A birthday.

She says she's sorry

That she could never give me

A birthday.

I tell Mama not to worry,

That I don't need a birthday.

Then

She gets even more upset.

First she starts screaming her mother's name

And swearing.

And crying

And I know

She's dying inside.

Uncle Moritz

Takes me aside.

"Don't worry about your mother," he says.

"Today is hard for her."

And…I can't help but wonder…

About my father again.

What was he like?

What did he like to do?

What was his favorite color?

His favorite song?

Would he sing to me

Like Mama does?

I don't even know his first name.

And

That makes me

Start to

Die

Inside.

I visit Ilse again

As she's dreaming that night.

She looks at me

Like I'm

The answer to her prayers.

And I sit with her

And talk to her.

I ask her

The things that I don't

Want to ask Mama or Uncle Moritz.

Well, I do want to ask them,

Because I know they'd tell me anything,

But I don't

Want to

Hurt them.

Ilse tells me

A wonderful story.

A

Love

Story.

I thank her and go to leave…

But something in me

Doesn't want to leave yet.

I hug her

And ask her for

One more thing.

There he is.

In the graveyard

On his knees

Crying.

The grave he kneels at

Reads Mama's name.

It says she died

Of anemia.

I wonder

What that is.

Papa can't see me,

But I can see him.

And…

He's just what I've always

Dreamt he'd be.

I kneel next to him,

And hug him tight.

"I love you Papa," I whisper in his ear.

He doesn't respond,

But I know

He

Loves

Me

Too.

Whispering

Hear the ghosts

Through the moonlight

Sorry doing a new dance

Through their bone

Through their skin…

…

…See the father bent to grieve

The mother dressed in mourning

Sister crumbles

And the neighbors grumble

Preacher issues warning

History

Little miss didn't do right

Went and ruined all the true plans

Such a shame

Such a sin

Mystery

Home alone on a school night

Harvest moon over the blue land

Summer longing on the wind

Had a sweetheart on his knees

So faithful and adoring

And he touched me

And I let him love me

So let that be my story…