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  • Past Summer

    I could not give her these magic shoes. She kept being sick and sicker, without friends, just one sister and her nieces and nephews. Her sister just wrote me that she died on May 23rd, the same day my beloved father died on 24 years ago. She adored my father. Somehow it consoles me that she died on the same day, as if my Dad can cheer her a bit up now, wherever they might be, if they are somewhere.... She never accessed the Internet, our letters were once or twise a year and the old kind: in envelops and with stamps on it. All her letters over the years were short and said the same: I am fraid, I am sick, I am tired, I am lonely...No, she could not come and visit me in Mexico, she was too sick....

    When she was 14 and I was 13 she was very important to me. She was skinny and proper and lady - like and I was just a chaos and a mess. I admired her. Later I started feeling sorry for her, her decades - older lovers, her drama - stories of which more than half was not true. Her desperate search for love and attention, even more desperate than mine. She went on vacation to Ascona in Switzerland once then and wrote me a letter every day. I do not have these letters anymore, but I still see her handwriting exactly in front of my inner eye.

    Her name was Anhild, her father was a business - friend of mine, she also had 2 sisters, but I was the oldest and she was the youngest. Her father had left the family when she was 8 years old and now I think that that was that: she never ever overcame that pain! She got stuck inside that early trauma and grief and never found the strength to break free and return to life.

    She admired our family - life, adored my parents, identified so much with me that she said her father also called her KIKI, which we later discovered was not true. But we accepted that and to this day in our family she is KIKI Beese (which was her surname).

    Just her sister is there to bury her, no husband or ex - lover, no kids, no friends, one other sister dead. Just her sister in Germany and I here in Mexico cry and remember: her handwriting, her laugh, her sadness.

    I wish I could fabricate and give away magic shoes like the ones in my little story!
    Art by KIKI
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