The Letter

It was the third of January when I received the letter.  I remember vividly that it arrived in a purple envelope.  No, I guess one would better describe its color as lavender.  It was addressed to me.  The address was written in red ink in a delicate cursive, slanted precisely the way our second grade teacher had taught us.  There was no return address on the envelope to give me a hint as to the sender’s identity.  The postmark was smeared.  I did not recognize the name of the city.  The state looked to be CA, GA or possibly LA.  Maybe the zip code could narrow it down if I went online to look it up.

I was curious.  I don’t often get personal letters, if indeed that is what this was.  Most of what I pull from my mailbox comes addressed to “occupant” or “resident” or is clearly a bill, an advertisement or a solicitation from some charity.  Who even sends personal letters anymore by mail?  My curiosity dimmed several degrees.  It occurred to me that this was probably just a trick.  Some business or charity probably sent it and attempted to disguise it to look like a personal letter.  I’d gotten a few pieces of mail like this before and had felt foolish when I opened them with high expectations only to have my hopes dashed when I saw what was inside. 

I considered tossing the envelope unopened into the recycle bin with the morning’s newspaper.  How does that saying go?  Fool me once, something, something?  Oh what the hell.  Just open it.  So what if it’s just an ad or a request for money from some political group.  Just don‘t get your hopes up, that’s all.

I slid my letter opener under the flap of the envelope and made a slit to reveal the contents.  Hmm, lavender stationery.  I opened the paper.  There were three pages written in the same longhand with the same red ink as the address on the envelope.  I read the first line.

“You may be surprised to be hearing from me after all these years.”  I flipped to the last page.

“Fondly,” and no signature.  Think of that – no signature.  I stared out the kitchen window for a moment.  Then I laid the letter on the kitchen table and filled the electric kettle with water to make myself a cup of tea.