"Now that we're here, it's now time to begin." The lawyer's voice was somber. "I will now read the last Will and Testament of Gilbert Beilschmidt, on this 27th day of December in the year 2015.
'The Awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt declares that this be read exactly two days after my death. As I don't have many things, I have a very short list.
To my brother, Ludwig Beilschmidt, I leave my awesome house located in Berlin, Germany. I also leave half of my entire life's savings. His share amounts to exactly seven hundred forty two thousand dollars and, like, ten cents. I hope that you have a happy life with Feliciano, brother.
To Feliciano Vargas I leave my family cook book and my father's dutch oven, since West doesn't know a thing about cooking decent food.
Lastly, to my husband, Matthew Williams (Beilschmidt), I leave my music collection, New Prussia, and Gilbird, the three things that I hold close to my heart besides him. Live on, love.
That's all. Go home.'
February 25th, 2016
Snow crunched under Matthew's feet as he walked from his car to his house. He shifted the cardboard box he held to one arm, unlocked the door, and stepped in.
Out of habit he almost called out for Gilbert, but the noise died in his throat and another blanket of sadness settled over him. There was a mournful twitter from the small bird perched on his head as Matthew sat the box down on the coffee table and plopped down on the couch.
"Two months today…" he said aloud.
Gilbert flew from Matthew's head onto the back of the couch where the sign 'New Prussia' was still taped. Tears filled Matthew's eyes, and the weight of the sadness forced him into laying down and burying his face in a throw pillow.
Two hours passed before Matthew moved again, and it was because his phone was vibrating. The caller ID showed that it was Arthur. He ignored the call from the older nation, placed the phone on silent, and pulled the cardboard box towards him.
Countless CD cases were in the box, organized alphabetically by artist. Even though Matthew knew Gilbert's taste in music, the extent still awed him. Greenday, AC/DC, Metallica…
A piece of paper caught Matthew's eye, and he pulled it from between two of the Metallica CDs. The handwriting was Gilbert's, and the top half of the page was crossed out every few, not unlike the rough drafts of Francis's poetry.
However, the last half was clear:
Rough Draft: Letter for February 28th, 2016
Dear Birdie,
I'm going to be as simple as possible.
I love you, Matthew Beilschmidt, and I fall more in love with you every day.
Happy second anniversary, dear.
-Gilbert