I remember that moment. It felt as if it happened yesterday. I was four years old and my family was gathered around the dinner table: Mother, Father, Auntie, Uncle George, and my cousin Merina. Cheerful music filled the air, and off-key voices sang, “Happy Birthday to you!” Merina curtsied appreciatively. “Now, make a wish!” said Auntie. Merina bent toward the cake to blow out the candles but changed her decision when she declared, “Charlotte will do it for me.” She lowered the cake so I could reach it. I closed my eyes, soaked in the scent of sweet vanilla deliciousness, imagined the most extraordinary thing I could think of, and blew. “What did you wish for?” inquired Merina later that evening. I motioned for her to come closer and whispered, “I wished for all of your dreams and my dreams to come true.” She grinned and whispered, “I promise they will.”

Something brushed across my leg and snapped me out of my pleasant reverie. Mother gave me a hard stare, “Stop daydreaming,” she stated cooly. I looked at the photo she dropped on my lap. It was of a woman in her early to mid-twenties. It was Merina! I saw her last at her birthday party eight years ago. Over the years, Merina entered the military and cared for wounded soldiers. She saw her dream come alive, and I pondered the day that mine would too. Today, my Mother and I received news that Merina passed away and went on to be with the Lord. Mother maintained her phlegmatic composure while I was about to cry. Fortunately, there was good news. Moments ago, Mother discovered a suitcase at our door and hauled it inside. It was from Merina and addressed to me. I slowly unzipped the case and opened it. I gasped. Inside the suitcase was the most captivating typewriter; I knew that it would be my treasure.

Mother crossed her arms, “It’s like your cousin to send you that antique contraption.” She gasped, “I know, I can sell it and I’ll buy you the new desk that you’ve been wanting!” Mother said excitedly. My heart started burning as her words pierced into the fibers of my spirit. Salty tears coursed down my face as I whispered, “Merina gave me this because it was important to her. Don’t you care?” Mother crossed her arms, “I do. I didn’t want Merina to pass away, I told her to choose a less dangerous career. It’s her fault!” she replied snarkily.

At that last remark, I bolted up the stairs with the case, ran into my room, placed the suitcase on the floor, and locked the door behind me. My heart pounded and I breathed heavily. I heard my Mother shouting from the other side of the door. “OPEN THE DOOR CHARLOTTE!” she roared. I had no intention of letting her inside. I tried to forget her comment about Merina. I knew that she could often make insensitive remarks at times that she got upset. I prayed for that to change. However, I couldn’t think any more about Mother. Not now. I needed to focus on something else.

I scooted across the floor and closer to the suitcase. I opened the case, relieved that the typewriter wasn’t damaged in my urgency to escape my Mother. I lifted it out of the case and gazed at it for a minute. It was a beautiful marbled gold, white, and light aquamarine-ish color. Reminiscent of the foamy ocean sparkling in golden sunlight. I pressed the C key and anticipated a satisfying CLICK, but a more pleasurable sound sunk into my ears. A soft and delicate note rippled through the ambient silence in the room, and a golden C appeared on the paper that was attached to the typewriter. I pressed more letters and found that a different note came from each. I was awestruck.

I closed my eyes and typed on the typewriter, listening to the beautiful music. I didn’t even care about the gibberish that would appear on the page. I was delighted by every note that filled the air. When I finished typing and opened my eyes, I was surprised. Instead of gibberish, there was a letter. When I read it, it was like I poured out my heart on the page. It was a letter to my Mother. It expressed how I felt about my relationship with her and how I longed to see her joy restored. I excitedly took the letter out of the machine and slid it under the door, listening for my Mother’s footsteps. I waited a few minutes. When I heard nothing, I decided to be courageous and leave my room to hand the letter to my Mother. I stood up, and unlocked and opened the door. I looked left and right to see that my Mother wasn’t in sight. I looked down and saw that the letter was gone. I assumed that Mother took it without me hearing her at the door. I walked toward her room to see if she was there and if she read the letter yet. As I approached, I heard a melody coming from her room; it was the same melody that came from the typewriter when I wrote her letter! I knew that she was inside and she was reading the letter and the music was coming from the page. Suddenly the music stopped, and my Mother’s door opened slowly. Her hair was disheveled, and her eyes shot open in shock when she saw me standing outside her door. Tears rolled down her face, and my eyes met her watery ones. Mother sobbed. Then she said, “I’m sorry. I was caught up in my feelings earlier, and . . . I’m just grieving right now.” I suddenly embraced her and whispered, “I love you and forgive you.” She squeezed me back and laughed. A warm smile spread across her face. Jesus answered my prayers; I knew that Mother changed. My dream came true.