Dear Rebecca,

How does one start writing a letter to a person in the future? Somehow, I feel like Ms. Fields won’t be able to show me a page in the L.A. textbook where there’s a letter format for this. To start, congratulations on your high school graduation. I’ve been waiting for this day for such a long time. Actually, I haven’t. But when future me arrives at this day, I think I will have been. I don’t even know if future me will exist. For me, all that exists right now is being a moody teenager who spends too much time on the computer. Or so they tell me.

But this isn’t about future me, or from your perspective, lovely Rebecca, present me. Because this is about you. The assignment is supposed to be about how special you are and other stuff. Do you know how special you are? You ARE. You amaze me, little sister. How you can bring my whole mood up in a few seconds or send it crashing down with a single word. As of today, you’re a little bit above my waist height. Or maybe you’re taller. I can’t measure because you’re getting ready for bed with Daddy. You have the most beautiful eyes. They are so dark and incredibly shiny, with a light in them that I can see nowhere else. Your unruly curls are short, but they tumble in front of your face often. You never let me brush your hair. The only time I can touch it is when we’re in church and you sit on my lap. Then I can put in a ponytail and you can’t scream because we’re in church, after all. I love the way you make up songs and sing when you think nobody’s listening. I love how your tongue is often many colors, ranging from green to orange to normal pink. That’s due to all the Popsicles you eat. I wonder if you still like Popsicles.

When we’re in the car, we always sing, or fight with each other. You’re six years old, after all. One song that we love is Home, by Phillip Phillips. I’m sure that by the time you read this, he’s not cool anymore and he’s thirty-four. That kind of rhymed. Well. We sing songs about hungry hungry herbivores, Dinosaur Train, and She Loves You-better known to you as YEAH YEAH YEAH!

I love you. I tell you all the time and you always get angry. When I ask you if you love me, you always say no. But I know that’s just because you are somewhat of a bratty kindergartener right now. You take pleasure in the hurt on my face, because it’s the only power you have. But we love each other. We don’t always LIKE each other, but we always love. I love you, Rebecca, and I hope 12 years from now, you still know that.

-Isabel