DEAR YOU [Part 1]

Chapter 9

JACK

I walked down the street with my hands in my pockets. It was five in the evening and a little chill in the air. I saw our mailman dropping a letter in our mail box. It had been months that we received any mail and since there was no one we were expecting, I quickly jotted it down.

“Hey Duke. Is there something for us in there?” I shouted.

“Just a letter, Jack.”

“That letter looking like an invitation to you?” I said approaching the mailbox.

“I don’t know man, just looks like a letter.”

It has been a week since the incident at dinner. Things have been much quitter but it feels like there is much to be said. That day broke something in me but I knew that my wife was going through something worse and as much as she upset me, I still cannot see her unhappy.

I walked through our garden with this anonymous letter in my hands wishing for it to be an invitation. The invitation for our daughter’s wedding. I sat down on the porch and slid my fingers through the envelope.

“Dear you,
I want to die.”

I hastily folded the page of paper. Guess this isn’t the invitation to a wedding. I composed myself and started reading again.

I read the entire letter again and again and after the fifth time it started making some sense. i didn’t understand what to do with the letter so I folded it and placed it in my pocket.

I opened the door to be welcomed by nothing but silence. The long hallways of the house begged for some chaos. I walked past the dining room into the living area.

“What’s for dinner Flo?” she turned around. Her hand was full of pictures. Old family photos. The kids must have been five or seven at the time. She tried to slowly hide the photos with her pashmina.

“The regular. I will go serve dinner now.” She completely hid the photos and walked out of the room.

“I’ll lend a hand honey.” I followed her.

The evening mist covered the windows. I sat down in my chair next to the fireplace.
It is amusing how all our lives we work so hard, we never stop just so that one day we grow up and can finally stop.
We give so less attention to anything but success that we miss out on the things that we actually need.
I picked up the photos as the shawl slid down the couch.
And I saw faces, smiling faces of three and five year olds. Christmas photos, vacation photos and slowly they turned into graduation photos. Nothing changed much except the faces. They were no longer smiling faces. I never noticed that before, I never noticed when my kids stopped smiling or when they went away, far away from us.

Maybe if I had paid more attention.

I unfolded the letter and read it again. I could not make sense of it before but now it became a little bit better. This person was clearly in need of some help, some attention and it couldn’t be more clear. They were asking for help and what made me sad was that they had to go through such lengths in order to be seen or heard.

As I moved the photos, a little note slipped out. It was a letter from a seven year old Paris to Santa. It read, “I wish that my dad and my mom like me as much as they like Aunt Susan’s kids.”

I walked up to my study with the letter and the note and started writing,
“Hey.
Tell me more about yourself.”

___________________________________________________